Ghost
by QueenOfTheUniverse
Summary: An assassin for hire has one last job to do for his boss who's realized that Nick Stokes is on to him. Can Greg save Nick's life or will he wind up dead for doing his job? Action violence romance angst slightAU. NG
1. Chapter 1

Ghost: chapter 1

A/N: This first chapter sets up the crime scene. In chapter two our favorite boys (Nick and Greg) will take center stage as the two CSIs assigned to this crime scene, and possibly a few others. But be aware, I know how this is going to end, and it will be a big surprise for all of you! While you know who did it and how, they don't, and that's the key to this story. Just to WARN you, there will be lots of action and violence, hence the rating. (Think of the movie War with Jet Li that just came out over the summer, and you'll get it.) Anyway, please enjoy, and don't forget to review when you're done! Thanks!

* * *

Geoff Baker knew his job and he did it well. As he left his Boss's office and was escorted out of the five million dollar mansion by the guy's personal security team he felt his favorite handgun underneath his jacket and smiled. The two goons dumped him outside the front door. He walked down the white marbled steps toward the red Dodge Viper calmly waiting for him. He unlocked it and got in, started the engine and threw the car into gear before flooring it out of his boss's driveway. His next assignment would be a piece of cake. Even if the target rolled out the welcome wagon.

According to the big Boss man, who liked to go by the name "The Devil", one John Winters would be at the unloading docks of an old warehouse on the edge of Las Vegas in just over two hours. What he had done to piss off the Devil Geoff didn't know, though he knew it had something to do with some sort of drug deal gone bad. Geoff never pressed for details. He only needed the immediate facts that would help him find and kill whoever it was that needed their life ended. He didn't care why. As long as he got paid, that's all that mattered.

He sped through town, avoiding all the traffic at the strip and found himself at said warehouse a few minutes early. This was good. Gave him time to prepare for the job ahead. Hiding the bright red car in the buildings farthest from the specific one Winters would be in, he got out of the car, opened the trunk and pulled out a duffle bag. He stripped out of his shirt and pulled out a stocking cap from the bag, sliding it over his head, but not over his face. One thing he couldn't risk was hair fibers littering the scene when the police showed up. After making sure the silver ring was still on the long chain around his neck he grabbed a fresh shirt and slid it on, covering up the chain and ring. He then took off his shoes, socks, and pants and exchanged them for clean clothes and the special pair of sneakers he wore when he was on the job. He'd found a liquid rubber that dried to a strong, but flexible hold, which he'd used to fill in all the gaps in a regular pair of New Balance sneakers. For sure they would find shoe prints, and know what size shoes he wore, but not what brand. It would throw them for a loop. He threw the old clothes and the bag into the small trunk and looked up at the gun rack underneath the hood, choosing which weapon would work best. This was supposed to be a one man assignment, but there was always the chance he would run into some of Winters' own goons, who would have to go down too. He hoped there would be more than just Winters there. He liked it when fights got interesting, and more difficult. He chose a long AK-47, made sure it was loaded, and added a long black leather coat to his wardrobe to hide the weapon under. He added extra clips to his pockets and checked to make sure his hand gun was still intact and ready to go. If only Winters showed up, one gun shot to the head would do the trick. But if others were there, he'd want the heavy artillery.

He took a quick walk around his supped up car, checking to make sure there wasn't a dent or a scratch on it. The tires looked good too. Strong, sport type wide enough so that his crazy driving wouldn't drag him off the road, and from a different company so that when the tracks came up in the tread database it wouldn't say Dodge Viper. And the license plates were on tight. When he got home he would switch them out again.

Geoff prided himself on his professionalism as he wiped clear his old shoe prints in the dust and got back into the car to wait for his target where he could clearly see the main warehouse in his rearview mirror. He reached into a compartment of the consol and brought out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Lighting one he prepared to wait. Not that he needed much calming down, but sometimes his nerves acted up during a job and this helped them to stay calm. Just a precaution. But one he liked none-the-less. He loved the way the smoke blew smoothly through his lips and curled upwards until he could no longer see it. It was a beautiful thing. As beautiful as the body he'd see later, sprawled out on the ground, blood running down the face. He couldn't wait to get back to his post office box and get the rest of his payment. He wondered what he would spend it on this time.

He didn't have long to wait, however, as several cars came rolling in just then, all spewing dust every which way. Geoff got out of the Viper and went back to the trunk. Never mind the handgun, though he would keep it with him because he never went anywhere without it, not even to the bathroom sometimes, he popped the latch and pulled out a second AK-47 and loaded it.

It was time to rock and roll and these bad boys wouldn't have any clue as to what had happened to them by the time he'd hit them and gone. He grinned wider than he had before. He was cleaning the streets of those who didn't deserve to walk them, and it felt good! He walked out of the building he'd hidden in, his head was up, his shoulders back, his strides long, the two weapons in both hands aimed at the sky for the moment.

As the dust began to settle he could see the shapes of men moving from their vehicles to the warehouse in question. Without a moments notice he brought both guns down and started firing. The men screamed, some fell, and others ran for their lives. There was confusion and panic all in a split second. Fearless, he entered the combat zone, picking out targets one by one and bringing them down. When he saw no more movement among the bodies outside, he followed the blood trail into the warehouse, careful not to step in it himself.

So far this had been too easy. He hadn't counted the bodies, though there had been quite a few. Someone had come inside to escape, and they were leaving a blood trail. So, he'd shot them. He almost wish he hadn't gotten them. It would make things harder. Make him take the time to search the guy out. This way, the path was clear. All he had to do was follow the evidence.

A bloody hand print on the stairs to his right led him up those stairs, following the drops and the transfer of the prints to a second level. Everything was large and empty. The evidence lead to a back room where he could hear someone moaning. He walked over and peered around the corner.

There was a man lying on the ground, his hand pressed into his side where blood was leaking out to form a pool around his body. The man's eyes widened when he saw Geoff standing there with his two AK-47s.

"Winters, you made this too easy for me. I wish you hadn't," Geoff said in a conversational tone, after recognizing him from the photo his boss had shown him briefly.

"Who... who... are you?"

"Ah, The Devil sent me. Apparently you have a debt to settle with him."

"Tell him I'll get him the money by tomorrow. I promise!"

"It's too late for that, my friend."

He let one of the weapons face the man before popping him in the head. John Winters' fell back onto the cold concrete and lay still.

"That was so easy the Staples button could have done it," Geoff commented to himself as he turned, and walked out of the building as if nothing had happened.


	2. Chapter 2

CSI: Ghost: Chapter 2

A/N: I was making spaghetti sauce when the idea hit me for this chapter opening. You'll understand when you get into it, what gave me the idea. However, since this is my favorite food of ALL time, and this is the BEST spaghetti sauce recipe, and since it gave me the idea for this chapter, you will find this authentic Italian recipe at the end of this chapter! So, enjoy, both the new chapter and the recipe, and please don't forget to post a review at the end!

* * *

"But Grisson, Greg's cooking up this amazing spaghetti dinner and you know how often he cooks. I just think it would be cruel to make him drop everything right now."

"Nick, I need you both. We've got twelve dead bodies at the scene."

"Twelve?"

"Yes. Twelve. I need you there. No more than half an hour. Got that?"

Nick sighed. "Yeah, yeah, we'll be there."

He hung up the house phone and went to the kitchen doorway. Greg was standing at the counter, holding the large knife in his hand, his face pointed upward toward the ceiling, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Greg? You ok? You didn't slice your finger, did you?"

Nick walked over to him, praying he wouldn't have to take him to the emergency room.

"Give me your shoulder!" Greg demanded, as he opened his blurry eyes.

"Greg?"

The younger CSI dropped the knife on the counter, spun around, and quickly buried his face in Nick's sweatshirted shoulder.

"What's going on, hun?"

Nick was still confused.

"I hate onions!"

"Oh Greg," Nick grinned, wrapping his arms around him in a warm hug.

"Thanks, I don't now how it does it, but your shoulder always makes everything better."

Greg pulled away and wiped the rest of his tears away on the back of his hand, the front of which were still covered in bits of onion.

"So? Was that Gil?"

"Yeah, on our first night off in weeks, we're being called in."

"You did tell him about the spaghetti, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did. But there's twelve bodies at the scene."

"What? Twelve?"

"Yup."

"Great. Let me just get this all put away and get changed. We can continue this tomorrow I guess."

"Too bad though, cause I was really looking forward to having a real dinner with you. And I'm hungry."

"Settle on take out then. McDonald's is on the way to the lab."

"Right."

The two men hurried to get changed and grabbed their kits. As they were half way out the door the house phone rang again.

"I'll get it," Greg said, setting his kit down and rushing over to the phone in the livingroom. "Sanders-Stokes," he answered.

Nick sighed again and went back inside to wait for Greg.

"Oh, hi Mom! Actually we were just headed out the door... yeah, I know it's our night off... we did get called in. So, I really can't talk long... Nick?... ok...yeah, alright I'll ask him. But I really don't know. You know we never know until the last minute... and of course you know I can't wait to get away from here for a few days of relaxation..."

Hearing only Greg's half of the conversation, Nick wished he could at least have the chance to guess who's mom he was talking to, but he never had to guess. He was just glad the whole Stokes clan had adopted Greg without hesitation, giving him the family he'd lacked for so long.

Greg hung up the phone and was back by Nick's side, picking up his kit again in no time.

"So, how's Mom?"

"Same as always. She wants to know when we're coming down for Christmas. You know, the specific date we'll be there."

"She never gives up. Someday she'll learn not to ask this early," Nick said with a smile.

* * *

After stopping off at the lab to pick up one of the lab vehicles they finally arrived at the crime scene. Nick closed his eyes for a moment.

"Shit," Greg breathed, taking in the scene before them.

"Murder in the twelfth degree, guys, get out here!" Grissom called.

They both sighed heavy sighs and got out of the Denali. Their boss was kneeling on the ground looking at something intently.

"What have we got?" Greg dared to ask.

"Spent shell casings everywhere. Twelve dead bodies. David hasn't even arrived yet."

"Bobby's going to have a field day," Nick commented.

"Where's Catherine and Warrick. Shouldn't they be out here as well?"

"They're working another case."

"Ok, where do you want us?"

"Nick, you take the perimeter, find out how they got in here and where. Find out how everyone got in here, those dead, and those not dead."

"So, you're thinking this was done by more than one guy?" Greg asked.

"It's possible. In fact, that's probably the case. Unless the guy was Superman. He took out twelve guys and it doesn't look like any of them fought back. Greg, you work with me and these bodies."

"Right, will do."

Nick headed away from them toward the farthest building on the abandoned property while Greg knelt next to one of the victims. Opening his kit he began collecting more of the spent shell casings and photographing the pools of blood.

"It looks to me as if they all just died right here," he commented awhile later. "I mean, this blood is only pooling around their bodies. It's not going anywhere, and it never had the chance to."

"You're probably right. Which means they didn't have time to get away."

"This one looks scared," Greg pointed toward one of the DBs and snapped his picture.

"What would be going through your mind when you realize you're about to die and you don't have time to runaway? You're frozen to the spot and the barrel is aimed at you..."

"I'd feel pretty scared myself, sure."

"So, what does that tell you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there's a time line here. Not all of these men died scared."

"Oh, right. I'm on it."

Greg moved with his camera to snap pictures of all the victims, marking down which ones were scared, which weren't, which ones had fallen face forward, and which were on their backs. When he reached the edge of the carnage closest to the first building he saw it. A trail of blood lead into the building. He swabbed it, and began taking pictures as he followed it inside. He found blood transfer on a set of nearby steps by a hand, and more blood drops. Working his way up the stairs slowly he looked around briefly, to make sure the room was empty. Following the blood again he found a dead man with a pleading look stuck on his face, even in death. One gun shot to the head, though Greg suspected most of his blood had left his abdomen where his hand was still holding on tight, dried blood dribbled over his fingers.

"Grissom, I've got one more body upstairs in the building," he radioed his boss.

"Great. You process up there. David just arrived. I'll send him up as soon as he's done here."

"Ok."

Greg got to work, taking notes, pictures, and grabbing up any evidence he could find from the man. He was so into the zone of a CSI working a crime scene that he wasn't even aware that someone else had come up the stairs behind him until he heard a quiet "Hey."

Without thinking he spun around, unclipping his gun and aiming it at whoever was standing behind him.

"Greg!" Nick's eyes went wide, and his hands flew to the air.

"Oh, my God. Nick, I'm so sorry!" Greg lowered his weapon and put it away.

He got up off his knees and went to Nick, his arms outstretched. But Nick backed away.

"Don't touch me. We're at a crime scene. Remember?"

"Right. Right."

"Hey, I'm sorry, I should have warned you I was coming. You were in the zone, and I had a feeling you would be. Don't worry about it. But gosh, for a guy who doesn't like to even carry, you sure do draw pretty quick."

"So, what are you doing up here?"

"Grissom sent me to check up on you. Just thought I'd see if you needed any help. You haven't done the rest of this room, have you?"

"Nope. Just finished him. He seemed important, so I spent extra time on him."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, whoever followed him up here wouldn't have unless he wanted him dead for sure. I mean, the guy was already bleeding out, he would have died anyway, but then he got capped in the head, just to make sure."

"And how do you know it didn't happen the other way around?" Nick paused. "Just to... you know, make it look like what you just said?"

Greg smirked. "Right. Now I don't feel like such a bumbling idiot anymore, hubby o' mine."

"What's going on up here?" Grissom asked, walking in.

"Drug dealer got popped," Greg commented.

"How do you know he was a drug dealer?"

"Found a wad of large bills in his pocket and a stash of powder in his pocket. Couldn't tell you what it is though. Have to take it back to the lab. But at least I can tell you this wasn't a robbery."

"Alright. Well, David's still working outside. I want both of you to take all the evidence we've got so far back to the lab and start processing it. I'll finish up around here."

* * *

Nick was at the wheel as he and Greg made the long trek back to the lab in silence. Neither of them had said a word since getting into the SUV and leaving the crime scene. He had to admit he was a little worried. Never had Greg ever pulled a gun on him like that, not even when he'd been startled. Sure, Nick knew he got into zones where he blocked everything else out of his mind, but this had still never happened before. He knew he should have been scared. Somebody would tell him that. Greg was his husband, of all people, and he'd just pulled a gun on him, even if it was by accident. But he wasn't scared. He knew Greg hated guns. He wouldn't even carry one himself until Nick talked him into it for his own safety when they got married.

No, he was more worried about how this would affect Greg. Especially since he hadn't said anything yet. He had to say something. He had to be the one to break the ice before it grew too thick, especially while they were at work.

"Greg?"

"Look, I'm sorry, ok. I didn't mean to do it."

"I know you didn't. It was just an accident. I get it. I just wanted to make sure we were still cool with each other before we got back, that's all."

"You know what could have happened..."

"But it didn't. And that's the point."

"I realized it was you and... I did my best not to freak out that I almost shot you. I mean, you're the most important person in my life, in my entire life, and I almost killed you."

Nick pulled the vehicle to the side of the road and switched the engine off before turning to face Greg. Under normal circumstances he figured Greg would be in tears by now over something of this magnitude, but maybe it was the fact that they were still on the clock that made him hold the salty drops at bay. He had a mask over his face, though his eyes were cloudy as he looked out the side window, as far away from Nick as possible.

Nick took his chin in his hand and brought his head around so he could look him in the eyes.

"Greg, don't beat yourself up over this. I love you, and I trust you, completely. It was an accident. Nothing more."

He leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on his lover's lips. "Ok?"

Greg smiled a little. "Yeah, ok."

* * *

A/N:

This is an easy to make recipe that includes slow cooker and stove top instructions, so choose whichever you like. It goes well with angel hair or elbow pasta, at least, that's what I love to eat it on... and now I'm hungry! Enjoy!

Spaghetti sauce recipe

1 pound hamburger

1 large can tomato puree

2 small cans tomato paste

1 medium onion chopped

1 green pepper chopped

2 bay leaves

little more than pinch oregano

little more than pinch garlic powder

pinch salt

pinch ground pepper

Brown the meat, onion, and pepper together. Once browned add in puree. Take empty can and fill with water. Add water to meat, onions, and pepper. Add paste, 2 bay leaves, shake in oregano, shake in garlic powder. Add a pinch of salt, and a pinch of ground pepper. Stir everything, and simmer for three hours, stirring occasionally. (6-8 people)

Or for a slow cooker: After adding everything into the pot, bring to a boil before putting it all into the slow cooker and keep on low for three hours.


	3. Chapter 3

CSI: Ghost: Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry this is taking so long to write... the evidence is bogging me down! As you can probably already tell this will be a case driven piece about Nick and Greg, which will all make a ton more sense at the very end. Until then, however, it's their life throughout the case(s). So, with all that said, please enjoy this third chapter, and let me know what you think! Thanks!

* * *

"Grissom's analyzing the blood spatter and putting together a time line of the men's deaths from those pictures you took. Why don't you and I go talk to Bobby D about those cartridge casings we found?" Nick asked awhile later back at the lab. "He should be done with them by now, you think?"

"Yeah, sure."

Greg followed him to the ballistics lab where the tech was scrutinizing something under a microscope.

"What've you got for us, Bobby?" Nick asked.

The tech looked up.

"Oh, hey guys. Well, there were three guns at that crime scene, first of all."

"Three guns?" Nick looked to Greg.

"Indicating... three killers, perhaps?" Greg suggested.

"Maybe. Well, take a look at this, it's very interesting," Bobby said, pointing to the microscope.

Nick looked down the scope at the two bullets which had been extracted from the dead bodies. The bullets looked similar, but the striations were not a match. And it was a much longer bullet than he was used to seeing.

"What is it?" Nick asked, as Greg took a look.

"They're both bullets from AK-47s, but they're not from the same gun."

"So, two AK-47s were used at the scene?" Greg asked.

"Looks that way."

"What about the other gun? You said there were three?"

"Yeah, here's where it gets odd. All the bullets and casings came back as AK-47 but one did not."

"Only one?"

"Yeah, the one found in the forehead of John Winters was from a revolver."

"Woah, that's a stretch... to go from AK-47s to a revolver? And for one bullet? Why bother?"

"Don't know. That's your job."

"Right. Now, I hate to admit this, but I don't think I've ever had a crime scene with one of these huge weapons."

"Take that as a good thing," Bobby said.

"Yeah, so, can you show me how one of these works?"

"Sure."

Bobby left Nick and Greg standing side by side while he went into the locked cage where he kept his weapons. He came back carrying an unloaded AK-47.

"You're in luck, I actually happen to have one of these. Now, what you want to do is, well, first you have to load it, and here's how you do that..."

"Here, give me that."

Greg took the gun and the magazine, clipped them together, and in one easy, fluid movement with his right hand, had the gun aimed and ready to fire. Nick stared in shock at his husband who was surprising him more and more. Since when did he know how to operate an AK-47? And with only one hand? He wasn't even sure he could do it that easily with both hands. "Wow, I bow down to your masterful skills, Greg. I had no idea..."

Greg looked at both of them, his beautiful brown eyes growing wide. Nick watched as shame began to cloud them.

"I'm sorry Bobby. Didn't mean to steal your show," he whispered before handing the gun back and darting out of the room.

"Nick? What was that all about?" Bobby asked.

"I'm... I'm not too sure. He's hasn't been himself tonight, that's for sure. I thought it was just, a fluke, an accident earlier, now?"

"I'm sure it was. But you need to go talk to him. He needs you. I'll cover for you."

"Thanks."

Nick left the room and saw Greg far away down the hall as he darted into the bathroom.

"Greg?"

Nick walked into the room, glad no one else was in there. He found Greg curled up on the floor in the corner, looking upset. He sat down beside him.

"I can do that left handed too, if you want to know," he said, in a quiet voice.

"You're talented. I had no idea."

"I didn't want anyone to know. It... it just kinda came out of me. He was gonna take too long explaining it and I just wanted to get out of there. I've been trying to forget. Muscle memory makes it hard, I guess."

"Where did you learn?"

"I didn't want to... I swear... but they made me..."

"Who made you?"

"I joined the Wolf Pack when I was a kid in San Francisco. They're one of the largest gangs out there. I had nothing else to do. Felt like there was nothing else in my life, no one loved me, I was shipped from foster home to foster home. This was the closest thing to family I had. And for my own safety, I had to learn how to shoot. That's why I hate guns. That's why I know more than I let on. Probably why I aimed at you earlier too. I hate it. I just want it to all go away."

"Oh, Greg, it's going to be alright. I'm here, I love you, and I'm not leaving you."

Nick wrapped his arm around Greg and pulled him close, still a little amazed by the story.

"How did you get out of the gang then?"

"I got shipped to another foster home out of their territory, and my new foster parents prepared me for college, made sure I'd have a life when I left them cause I was already a senior in high school."

"Well, if you ever talk to them again, thank them for me, will you?"

"I don't even remember their names."

* * *

"Ok, so, what have we got so far?" Grissom asked in the layout room.

"Three guns were present at the shooting," Nick confirmed. "Two AK-47s and one revolver."

"Three guns? That doesn't make sense. There was only one set of footprints besides those of the dead bodies."

"And no tread found in the database," Greg offered.

"No tread?"

"No. You missed that? There was nothing there, just the outline of the shoe."

"No, I didn't miss that. But I'm not up on the fashion industry. For all I know someone could have designed a shoe with no tread on the bottom."

"That would make it a little slippery, wouldn't it?" Nick asked.

"All shoes are slippery under the right conditions," Greg said.

"Right."

"So, where does that leave us?"

"Well, I can at least tell you who died first," Grissom pointed toward the outline of the scene. "My guess is the killer or killers started from this direction, came out of nowhere, and began to shoot wildly, perhaps with the two AK-47s. Which is why these guys in front died without that look of fear. They had no idea what hit them before they died. Then, these guys in the back turn around and see what's going on, try to flee, get scared, because there's no time to run away. They get shot. We're still working on identifying half of those bodies. It'll take awhile, Doc's hoping dental records will help on some of them. But the last guy, is identified as John Winters, a known drug dealer. All three sedans have been towed to the garage. I'll need you two to go over them in fine detail. But on a cursory inspection I found large amounts of Coke and Heroin in the trunks of both. He was head of the ring, which is why whoever shot him went after him, I'm guessing."

"Maybe they weren't happy with their supply that they'd spent a lot of money on and wanted to get back at him for it."

"Maybe."

"So, what you're saying," Greg piped up. "Is that two guys cleared the scene of all the middle men for the main guy to get at Winters? Would explain the three weapons, and why only the revolver was used once."

"It's possible. But doesn't explain the footprints."

"Alright, well, we'll go get started on the three cars."

Greg sighed and headed out the door in the direction of the garage.

Grissom looked at Nick.

"Is he ok?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine. It's just not been an easy night for him. But don't worry, I'll take care of him."

"You'd better. I don't need his personal issues affecting the case."

"I know. And they're not."

"Alright."

* * *

Greg crawled into the back of the first car with his flashlight. Peering first at the floor he caught sight of something pink. Bending closer to inspect it he found it was a piece of well chewed gum. He bagged it and continued to search the backseat of the car without saying a word to the husband who was searching the front seat.

It wasn't that he was angry at him for anything, or that he didn't want to speak to him. It was the opposite. He loved Nick with everything he had, but he knew he had to keep work and their relationship as separate as possible. He also knew that if he started talking now, even about some random article he'd read in _Sand and Surf_ it would turn the conversation in a direction he couldn't allow it to go and he would wind up needing, not just wanting, to attack Nick with every romantic and sexual bone in his body.

He bagged several different hairs from the head rests in the back, all of them long. Finding nothing else he began his search for bodily fluids that invariably found their way onto the backseats of cars.

"What'd you get, G?" Nick asked, over the front seat.

"Sex. Lots and lots of sex." He did his best not to think of the man less than a foot away from him. "Bubble gum and lots and lots of long hairs, not all the same colors. You?"

"Yeah, there's some hairs here, and I got prints from the dashboard and the steering wheel."

"Maybe this will help identify those other bodies, perhaps."

"Maybe. Hey Greg, once we get this done, drop off the evidence, I'm gonna go see Grissom about..." Nick's cell phone rang. "Stokes... Oh, hey Griss...Yeah, almost done with the first car. Not much we can tell you from the outside. Inside, we got some DNA and fingerprint samples. We'll get them to the lab when we get finished on all three... yeah, ok... wait... you sure? I mean... what about the case?... Alright, thanks boss."

Greg looked up at him. "What are we up to next?"

"Heading home after we turn the evidence over to the rats."

"Home? But we're not done with the case."

"I know. But he wants us to go home."

"I take it you do too. You were going to ask him, right?"

"Since when would I refuse a nice hot shower and sleeping with you?"

Greg grinned, for the first time in hours. "I guess we'd better hurry up with this evidence collecting then."

"Right. Cut the banter, get to work. I need to see your naked ass in my bed later."

"Hey, that bed does not belong to you, and you alone. It belongs to both of us. So quit calling it yours. Besides, I want your naked ass in my bed later. That'll definitely help with the stress I'm feeling right now."

"Hmmm, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Then shut up and gather evidence so we can get on to relieving your horrible stress."

They both grinned at each other and buckled down to get their work done.


	4. Chapter 4

Ghost: Chapter 4

A/N: I just want to warn you that this story will be a heartbreaker in the end so just in case you're not up for that, you've been warned. The last chapter or two will require a large box of Kleenex. Until then, however, emotions will be up and down, hopefully, mostly up. Besides that all I have to say is thanks for the reviews so far and I hope you enjoy this update!

* * *

The apartment was mostly bare. A small place: living room, bedroom, kitchen combined with a tiny bathroom across from the twin bed. The walls were white, with not a spec of dirt on them or the beige carpet. The kitchen, had a small two burner stove, small refrigerator, no dishwasher, and a washing machine and dryer side by side. The only food in the cupboards and the refrigerator was canned goods, frozen foods, pasta, whatever would last a long time. The living room was really the bedroom as there was no comfortable chairs, no couch, no television. Just a twin bed on a simple metal frame with an old beat up wooden nightstand and dresser found on the street next to a dumpster. On the dresser sat an empty wig stand.

Geoff Baker finished the touches to his black haired wig before throwing a short leather jacket on over his white t-shirt. Aside from that, he wore a pair of slightly baggy jeans and sneakers. Some girls would have called him hot while others would have drooled after him. He knew this from experience. But he didn't need the cult following. He slipped on a pair of sunglasses to hide part of his face. Reaching into the night stand he pulled out his wallet and slid it into his back jeans pocket. He reached back in and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and his cell phone. He checked his phone for messages and found one from The Devil, his boss. Untraceable phone number. He never called from an unsecured line. He listened to the message.

"Geoff, I see that you did an exceptionally good job in record time. To thank you I've given you a little bonus in your second half of the payment. It should be waiting for you at your post office box by now, I would assume. I'd also like to invite you to dinner next Thursday night. Your next target will be dining with us. Six o'clock. Don't be late."

Geoff erased the call and put the phone back into the drawer. He grabbed his apartment keys and left the building, leaving his Viper in the parking garage in its secured spot, preferring to walk.

"Good morning, Mrs. Aquilina," he said to the elderly woman coming up the walk with several bags of groceries.

"Oh, good morning Geoff."

"Here, let me help you with those."

"Oh, no dear, I'll be fine, if you'll just hold the front door open for me."

"Sure, no problem."

Geoff reached out and held it open as she walked through. She stopped, and turned to him.

"You know, I just don't understand how a man as good looking as yourself hasn't got a woman by now. You should be married with kids!"

"Mrs. Aquilina, we've been over this before, I just haven't found the right girl yet, that's all."

"Right. Well, I'm sure you will soon enough. Anyway, thank you, and have a wonderful day!"

"You're welcome."

He let the door close and continued on his way to the post office with a smile on his face.

* * *

Fifteen grand. He'd counted it twice, while he sat on the park bench shaded by the tree across from the post office. Fifteen grand. That was five more than the usual second half of his payment. But he wasn't counting. Not really, anyway. Once the actual counting was done he took the hundreds out of the envelope and stuffed them up his sleeve and went for a long walk. He stopped by an out of sight garbage can and took out a cigarette and his lighter. As he lit up the cigarette, he also lit up the envelope with his address on it and let it fall into the can just before it burned his fingers.

He then walked to the nearest bus stop and hopped on, choosing his next stop at random. He got off half an hour later and began walking the streets. He spotted a homeless man in rags begging for change on the sidewalk. He calmly walked over to him and slipped a hundred dollar bill out of his sleeve and put it in the man's cup. The man looked down, then back up at him with wide eyes.

"You have a nice day," Geoff said.

"Why, thank you! Thank you! God bless you, sir!" the man called after him as he walked on.

He smiled to himself. It only took so little to help those in need. And it brightened his day to see someone smile because of something he'd done. He didn't need the money. The only expensive thing he allowed himself was his car, and nothing else. What else did a man really need anyway?

The day was a warm one, and a perfect day to give blood to the Red Cross. He came upon a booth outside of a church with nurses standing by, ready to take blood.

"I'd like to donate," he said.

"Ok, well, if you could just sit right over here and fill out this form we can get you started," a young blonde said.

"No, I'm sorry, I miss spoke. I can't donate blood. Medical reasons. But, could I donate money?"

"Why... why, sure, why not?" He slipped many hundreds out of his sleeve and gave them to her.

"I hope this helps," he said with a smile and was gone.

He made his rounds for another half an hour, handing out money to the poor of the city and the charities, before he got back on the bus and headed home.

His cell phone was beeping when he walked in the door, signaling that he had another message waiting.

"Geoff, requests your attendance in his office. He's got another hit for you. But he still wants to see you for dinner on Thursday."

It was one of his boss's goons. And he had to go to work. He grinned.

* * *

Full loving husband mode. That's what Greg was in now, as he finished chopping up the pepper and threw it into the skillet with the ground beef and the onions. For the rest of the day there would be no thoughts of AK-47s and his checkered history. None. Only love would flow from his veins.

"So, you think we'll finally get to eat your wonderful spaghetti?" Nick asked.

He'd come up behind Greg at the stove and placed his hands on the younger man's hips, leaning in to nuzzle and kiss his neck.

"Mmmm, I hope so. After all the effort I'm putting into this. You smell wonderful, you know that right?"

"I know, you worked hard to get me clean in that long shower."

Nick nibbled on his earlobe.

"Nick, we're not going to have dinner, if you keep that up," Greg moaned.

"I just don't know how you do it, man. You're like the energizer bunny. How many times was that in the shower, babe?"

"I lost count," Greg grinned.

"See what I mean? I'm gonna start calling you Bunny, from now on. Or maybe Ebunny."

"I'll stick with Doll, or you know, Greggo, or G. But Bunny? Come on, I'm not a stripper."

"Coulda fooled me a couple hours ago, Bunny."

Greg turned the stove off when the meat was browned. Nick was still behind him, and he could feel his warm breath on his neck. And then Nick did the unthinkable. He licked him in his favorite spot right behind his ear. He felt the shivers running through his body as he turned and attacked Nick with his own mouth, taming him quickly as he pushed him out of the kitchen, into the livingroom and onto the couch. He let his husband's mouth go and got up.

"Where are you going?" Nick asked.

"You stay put," Greg ordered, pointing a finger at him. "Give me fifteen minutes, tops, to get the rest of this sauce together. Then we can fool around during the three hours it takes to simmer. Time wise, it makes more sense and we can eat sooner. I'm starving!"

Greg ducked back into the kitchen and began throwing the rest of the ingredients into the pot while keeping an eye on Nick at the same time. Nick had sat up on the couch, and was resting his head on his hands on the back, watching Greg in the kitchen. Once the lid was on the pot and the sauce was simmering, Greg went back and sat down beside Nick, who held his cheek in his hand and kissed him ever so gently and sweetly.

"You know, if we could find those candles Mom gave us, we could have a nice romantic dinner. Just you, me, and the spaghetti, and no tv like we usually do," Greg suggested.

"I love your idea."

Nick kissed him again. Greg reached up and took Nick's hand in his own, letting the fingers curl around his palm as he stared at the silver band on Nick's left ring finger with his own name engraved in a beautiful script.

"I know it's been five years, but I still like your choice of rings, G."

"That's not what I was thinking."

"Oh?"

Greg turned Nick's ring around on his finger so that his name was now facing Nick's palm. He raised Nick's hand and turned it upside down so he could read the inscription on the other side: 'I (heart) U'.

"That's what I was thinking," Greg said solemnly, looking up at Nick.

He let his husband's hand go and moved to straddle him as he covered his mouth again with his own. He sucked gently on Nick's lower lip, rendering him almost senseless with the simple act.

"You're so easy to control Nick. Are you sure no one else can do that to you?"

"It's all you, babe."

Nick didn't move an inch, he lay back on the couch like a puddle of mush allowing Greg to do whatever he saw fit to his body. Greg moved to kiss his earlobe and then his neck, working hard on one spot close to his collarbone, as he licked and sucked. He pulled away many minutes later, satisfied by the small bruise forming on his lover's neck.

"I'm still confused," Nick said. He was now breathing slightly harder than normal.

"About what?"

"I just don't understand how a guy like me could get so lucky. But I don't want to start asking questions cause then I'll wake up alone just to realize that you don't even exist, that it was all a dream."

Greg looked deep into his eyes.

"It's not a dream, Nicky. I'm here, and I'm all yours. Besides, you don't even realize what this means to me and nothing I can say or do will fully explain it to you. I'm just so happy that I can belong to someone as loving and caring as you. I wish I could help you understand, but I can't." Greg smirked all of a sudden. "You'll just have to settle on this instead," he breathed, kissing Nick while unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off him.

* * *

Geoff was on a roll, and he felt good. He wished he was doing this for the money because it wouldn't be long before he'd be a millionaire and he could retire and live off his earnings for the rest of his life... and he was only thirty five years old. There was something else he wished for. Better targets. Lately, he found himself getting bored. Everything was too easy. Even this one. Killing a man in broad daylight in his office downtown. Piece of cake.

Geoff was wearing his wig and sunglasses, along with a perfectly pressed suit. His revolver was in his pocket. And, he knew just enough about the target that he even wore the same shoes, so prints wouldn't even come up. Ironically, they both wore the same shoe size. Who would have guessed? And not only that, but the man was closing up his office for the day, but he always liked to work late, and alone. He always sent his secretary home at five o'clock precisely.

He'd parked his car around the corner and now stood across the street from Liffan and Black, the lawyers office where Ben Liffan worked. It appeared that Tim Black had died recently from a heart attack, and Ben just hadn't gotten around to getting the sign changed. It was a plus for Geoff as Tim used to work late as well, and he hated killing innocent people who weren't meant to die.

And there she was now. Jane Griffith, the secretary emerged from the revolving doors and began to walk down the street, probably towards the bus stop. But Geoff didn't care. As long as she was away from the office for a few minutes, that's all the time he needed.

He darted across the street and through the darkened revolving doors. Inside he found several offices on either side of the hallway ahead of him. There was a dentist, a pediatrician, a therapist, a hair and beauty salon, and there on the end he found Liffan and Black's office. He tried the door, but it was already locked, even though he could see a light on from the back office on the other side of the glass door. The other businesses and offices were already closed. He brought out his lock picking tools from his other pocket, and opened the door with quiet ease. Slipping inside he found several doors to the left of the receptionist's desk. One led to a bathroom, and was properly labeled as such. Another, presumably lead to the dead lawyer's personal office. And the third, had to belong to Liffan.

Geoff pulled out his weapon after sliding the other tools back into his pocket, and walked carefully down the carpeted hallway, toward the last door. It was closed, but not all the way. When he reached it, he pushed it open and stood in the doorway.

A balding man, probably in his late sixties, wearing a suit with no jacket and a loose tie looked up from his paperwork, startled.

"Who... who... are you?" he asked, a note of fear in his voice.

"Your worst nightmare," Geoff said, raising his revolver and pulling the trigger.

One gun shot to the forehead and Geoff was returning to the door, careful to lock it on his way out. Back out the revolving doors, he found his way to the Viper and was gone from the scene of the crime. It had been too easy.

* * *

Nick rolled over in bed and let out a contented sigh before he realized that the warmth he'd sought out wasn't there. He forced his eyes open and confirmed that the other side of the bed was empty and he was sleeping alone. He listened intently to see if the shower was running, or if maybe there were dishes clanging in the kitchen. He heard nothing.

"Greg?"

He sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Standing up, he almost lost his balance from his still sleepy state but he caught himself and managed to walk to the doorway before steadying himself on the doorframe. The hallway was empty. He found the kitchen empty, the mail on the table, unopened. Greg wasn't in the bathroom either. Or the livingroom.

"Greg? Where are you?" he called again as he headed toward the spare bedroom.

It was also empty. And a knot was beginning to form in his stomach. He went back to their bedroom. There was no note on his nightstand. If Greg was going somewhere he would have left him a note. And if he'd bee asleep, as he was, Greg would have left it on the nightstand by his head. If he'd been awake, he would have put it on the refrigerator with the microscope magnate he loved so much.

Nick grabbed his cell phone from the charger and headed back out to the kitchen to check the magnate. There was no note.

The pain almost doubled, and if it hadn't been psychological he knew he would have been bent over, clutching at his stomach. Greg always left a note. He'd never forgotten. Not once in the five years they'd been married. He went to the livingroom and looked out the front window to their driveway. Greg's car was gone.

Had he just gone out to the grocery store? Or had someone kidnapped him? Forced him at gunpoint to leave the house? But, how could they have and not woken Nick up? He would have heard something.

He dialed Greg's cell phone, just wanting to hear his voice, to know that he was totally overreacting. Everything was going to be just fine. Greg had just stepped out to get some milk and he'd be right back. He probably figured he'd be back before Nick woke up. But he always left a note, even then. He heard the phone ring on the other end and then Hank Williams began to sing back in their bedroom. Nick ran for the room, letting his phone ring. Greg's cell was sitting on his nightstand still in the charger where he'd put it before they made it to bed earlier that morning.

He was just overreacting... he was just overreacting... he was just overreacting... like a good husband would. He sank to the floor and hugged himself as the minutes crawled by and slowly turned into hours. He was not overreacting... he was not. And his mind blanked. Should he call Grissom? Should he file a report? Go out looking for Greg? Where would he start? He wasn't sure, but the tightening in his gut as the hours went by, told him he needed to do something.

* * *

A/N: I apologize for any mistakes you may find, while I started this early in the day, I finished it late, and edited it late. I'm tired, so who knows what I could have written. However, I'm beginning to really love this story especially now that I have a clear ending in mind, so I can't wait to post it. Don't forget to let me know what you think! I'm hoping it's going to hold you to the edge of your seat until the very end, and even then, you should still be glued there! But who am I to talk, the ending is still miles and miles of desert away!


	5. Chapter 5

CSI: Ghost: Chapter 5

A/N: Enjoy! And don't forget to review!

* * *

Greg pulled his small silver Jetta into the driveway and parked next to Nick's truck. He took a deep breath, glad to have had the time to clear his head before heading back to work. Heading back to bed was more like it, in reality. He was tired, having gotten up in the middle of the day when he should have been sound asleep.

But upon entering the house he knew something was wrong. The mail he'd brought in earlier was still sitting on the kitchen table. No dishes had been disturbed. Nothing had changed since he'd left except that the lights had been turned on.

"Nick?" he called into the empty house. "Nicky?"

The house was silent.

Worry began to grip him. Nick was never one to sleep in. He was always up and dressed early so he wouldn't be late to work. So, what had happened today? Was he not feeling well? Or was there someone else there? Perhaps preventing him from calling out? He slowly walked towards the bedroom, wondering why he was so afraid of what he'd find. And then it hit him. They'd been busy for hours earlier that day, more so than usual. He'd wanted to make sure everything was still cool between them after everything he'd done to the poor man at work. Things had gotten hot and heavy. It was no wonder Nick was still sound asleep in bed. Greg grinned at the thought as he rounded the corner of the doorway. When he finally saw Nick he stopped in his tracks, the smile fading fast from his lips.

Nick was sitting on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest, clutching a pillow as tight as was humanly possible, while staring straight ahead, apparently unaware of his husband's presence. "Nicky? What's wrong? Are you ok?" Greg asked, falling to his knees in front of his husband.

Slowly, Nick raised his head and his eyes met Greg's. He relaxed instantly but not completely.

"Greg? Where were you? Oh my God, I was so scared, I thought something had happened! You always leave a note. And there wasn't one. I tried to call you. But you didn't take your phone. You scared me, G."

"Oh, Nicky, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" Greg took the pillow from Nick and sat down beside him, wrapping his arms around him. "I didn't mean to forget the note, I swear. I just went out for a drive to clear my head, that's all."

"Clear your head from what? You were gone for so long."

Greg's heart broke at the crack in Nick's voice. He was a wreck and all because he'd forgotten to leave him a note.

"There's just been a lot of things on my mind. But I'm ok. You don't have to worry about anything. I'm sorry I made you worry about me. I really didn't mean to. I'll try my hardest not to forget the note again. I promise."

When Nick didn't move, or look at him, or seem to be breathing Greg bumped his nose into his husband's cheek. "Hey you, it's ok."

Nick looked over at him, noticing how he moved the tip of his nose up and down like a bunny rabbit. He cracked a small smile.

"I'm sorry I fell apart. I didn't really mean to. I'm a CSI, I shouldn't have. But I... I guess I froze, didn't know what to do."

Greg chuckled a little. "Sounds like my first time out in the field. But I survived. Right?"

"Yeah. No, I'm good. I think. I think I'll be alright. Now that you're here. I can't believe I freaked like that."

"It's entirely understandable, honey. We just got scared when the routine was broken, that's all."

"We?"

Greg burrowed his face in Nick's neck for comfort, remembering his own worried thoughts.

"You never sleep in. You're always up and about doing things by this time. And when I came home, the lights were on, but nothing else had changed. I began to think the worst. You scared me probably just as much as I scared you. I guess that makes us even."

Nick snorted. "We make a great pair. Just look at us. We can go to work and see the worst and we're just fine. But come home and all the stupid little stuff scares us. I can't believe we both freaked out like that."

"As long as we don't tell anyone at work, they'll all still think we're heros for the wonderful crime solving that we do."

"Right."

There was a sudden loud grumbling that took away the quiet of the house. Greg jumped back in feigned surprise.

"Nicky! My gosh, one would think you hadn't eaten in a month!"

"I'm sorry for that too."

"Stop apologizing, and let's find you some food. I'm hungry too."

Greg moved to face Nick again, moving his nose up and down for a moment before leaning in and planting a solid kiss on his lips.

"Mmmm, you taste like spearmint gum," Nick mumbled into Greg's mouth. "I love spearmint gum."

"I know."

* * *

Nick walked into the layout room later that night feeling much better since Greg had come home. He wore a bright smile and no one would ever suspect that his night had started off so horribly wrong.

"Brass, what are you doing here?" he asked, before he saw a second detective standing over the lighted table, looking over the evidence he and Greg had pulled from their latest case.

"I heard Johnny Winters got capped, wish I'd been there to see that! Well, anyway, I figured you'd want to know who he possibly had a beef with. He's been in and out of jail many times, got his rap sheet right here. So, I called a guy I knew who's been watching Winters for a few years."

He nodded toward the detective who finally turned around to greet Nick.

"Ah, Detective Omar from the LAPD. Nice to see you again."

Nick shook his hand.

"Yes, same here. It's been awhile since our last case together. Say, where's Greg? I haven't seen him around. I figured you two would be working together."

"He's in having a talk with the boss at the moment."

"Ah. You know Gil did tell me back when we were working that last case together that you both were his best guys when you work together."

Brass chuckled. "Yeah, they're our dynamic duo, alright. They put the most cases to bed around here, I think."

"Yeah, I guess we do own the bragging rights to that." Nick grinned, knowing Greg would love to hear this.

"Well, boys, I've got to go see Catherine and Warrick for a moment about their case, but Omar, when you're ready to leave, just give me a ring."

"Sure thing, Captain."

Brass started to leave the room but stopped when he got to the doorway.

"Oh, and um, Nicky... you might want to try a turtle neck for a few days."

Nick looked startled and felt the confusion welling up in his brain as he tried to process what he'd said. But it didn't seem to want to make any sense.

"Looks like Greg did a number on your neck since the last time I saw you," he clarified with a wink before leaving the room.

Nick blushed a deep shade of crimson in front of the LA detective, now feeling horribly mortified.

"Greg? Did he just say Greg? As in, the Greg you work with?"

"Um... yeah. Yeah, he did."

Nick consciously moved his hand to cover the mark his lover had placed on his neck not that long ago.

"Wow. You two were so professional I never knew a thing was going on. Unless, you weren't together back then?"

The CSI took in a huge breath of air and let it out.

"We've been married for five years," he clarified. "So, yes, we were together when we worked with you."

"No wonder you two work so well together."

The detective looked blown away by the news, but not disgusted by it at all. He was more surprised than anything.

"So, you have news for us about John Winters?" Nick asked, switching subjects as quickly as possible.

"Oh yes. I have to say I wasn't entirely shocked when I heard that he'd been killed almost in execution style."

"You weren't?"

"No. He had it coming to him. He used to run drugs to and from LA. Went to jail multiple times but it never seemed to do anything. Apparently he'd pissed off a lot of people in the business, so a lot of people could have wanted him dead."

"How'd he piss them off?"

"Oh, he'd forget a delivery. Or take the money and the drugs and run. Stupid stuff like that. He'd bring the cavalry with him all the time. He worked for a guy in Vegas, dealing stuff from LA. From what I've heard not too long ago he took the money and split with the drugs too. Hasn't been seen or heard from since. Until now. Guy's not happy about it."

"Who is it?"

"You ever heard of a guy who calls himself 'The Devil'?"

"Yeah I have. One of the biggest crime bosses we've got. Deals in everything."

"Well, I would talk to him, if I were you. He had the biggest hatred for Winters. And he's got the money and the capabilities to order a hit on this guy and clean it all up, sweep it all under the rug like it never happened."

"Yeah, but this Devil guy keeps his hands clean. I don't know how he does it, but whenever he's been in the spotlight before, he comes out clean."

"Oh, not this time. We'll get him somehow. It's gotta be him."

"Alright, well, let me go find the other half of this dynamic duo and we can get on the road."

* * *

Greg left Grissom's office with the assignment slip in his hand and headed for the locker room. When he got there, he saw his locker open and someone was hurriedly looking through his things. But he knew he had no reason to panic even if the door was hiding most of the person. He grinned, realizing that sometimes, you knew someone so well you could tell who they were just by seeing the side view of their ass. Like a fingerprint.

"You going through my locker again, Stokes?" he asked, using the shortened form of their hyphenated last name that Nick used when at work.

Nick looked up when he heard the familiar voice and smiled.

"Yeah, actually I am. I need a..."

"It's down here," Greg said, before he'd even finished his sentence.

He pushed Nick out of the way and reached into a gym bag and pulled out a white turtle neck.

"I didn't have one and..."

"I know. I brought it with me wondering how long it would take you to figure it out," he snickered.

"Greg! You should have told me!"

Nick quickly changed shirts, checking himself in the magnetic mirror Greg had on the inside of his locker door, right above the picture of them on their wedding day, making sure the hickey was well covered.

"Why? Everyone around here knows we're together."

"Yeah, but not that detective from LA. And he's here. Just talked to him. And thanks to Brass, he ratted us out to him."

"Ah, you're making a big deal out of nothing. We're professional. We always keep our home life separate from our work life."

"I know. And he's cool with it. Was actually surprised cause he didn't suspect a thing when we worked together on that last case. Actually he said Griss told him we're his best team out of everyone else here."

"Sweet! I was wondering why he always pairs us up."

"Well, we're professional, like you said. I guess it counts for something. I get to see you all the time."

"Oh, speaking of working together, we've got another crime scene to process, just got it."

Greg waved the assignment slip in the air.

"Another one? But we're still working on the last one!"

"I know. But it's similar to the first one. And Warrick and Catherine are busy with a few cases of their own."

"Great. I was just about to go with Omar to talk to a suspect."

"Oh? Already? Who?"

"The biggest crime boss Vegas has, actually."

"Ooohh, The Devil? Wow. Be careful with him. I've heard nasty stories about him. And, I'd like you to come home to me in one piece. Ok?"

"Sure thing, bunny. You know I will. Nothing could keep me away from you."

"Good. Now go catch some bad guys."

Nick holstered his gun, gave Greg a quick peck on the lips and disappeared out the door moments later, leaving Greg to stare after him. He smiled at the new nickname he'd acquired so recently and he found himself beginning to like it. A lot. It was original. Not originating from his name or from some 1940's noir film. He was just a normal guy who had a loving husband who'd given him a zillion nicknames since they'd been friends before they'd gotten married.

And he realized the lines were blurring themselves again. Remembering the kiss and the sweet nickname, he felt like he'd been transported back to a time when he and Nick had first fallen in love with each other and admitted it out loud. They couldn't stay away from each other for longer than an hour at a time it seemed. But he'd needed to have boundaries. He knew they had to keep work and home separate if they were going to work out as a couple and as a CSI team.

And for five years, the boundaries hardly ever blurred. Everything worked out well. Even though they were married, it was true, Grissom always picked them to work together when it was possible. And anyone who worked with them but didn't know them personally never suspected they were together when they were in the field. They'd never had a courtroom drama about tainted crime scenes. So far, everything was separate, and working out well.

Greg sighed. He didn't need to worry over trivial things like a nickname and a small kiss shared in the locker room. No one else had seen it. Their professionalism was still intact. And besides, he'd spent enough time thinking about their work lives during his long drive earlier. He had a crime scene to get to.


	6. Chapter 6

CSI: Ghost: Chapter 6

A/N: I hope you enjoy this chapter and don't forget to review!

* * *

Greg met O'Reilly at Ben Liffan's office just outside the front door. Looking in through the glass door he couldn't see anything that looked out of place.

"Hey, Greg," O'Reilly greeted.

"What've we got?" he asked the detective, nodding his own greeting.

"One dead body in the back office. Slumped over his desk. The night cleaning crew found him."

"Any ID?"

"Ben Liffan."

Greg looked up at the sign above the door. "Where's Black then?"

"Died. Just a few months ago. A heart attack. But we've got the secretary on her way in now. Jane Griffith. I'll let you know what she says."

"Sure."

He pulled out his flashlight and pushed open the unlocked door, giving the floor a sweep of the light as he walked inside. Slowly, he made his way over to Jane's desk. He scanned the neat desk, noting that everything was where it was supposed to be. Not even a pen was out of place. He moved on to the first closed door, for the moment ignoring the light in the office at the end of the hallway. The first door lead to the bathroom. He dusted it for finger prints, lifted them away with tape, and opened the door. Nothing inside suggested foul play cleaned up. Everything looked spotless. But it figured. With only one lawyer and one secretary using the facilities along with the occasional client, of course the place would be relatively clean. There were no cleaning supplies under the sink either, so unless the killer had cleaned up after himself and took the supplies with him, he hadn't even been in here.

Greg backed out of the bathroom and went across the hall to the other closed door. Inside he found the office of the previously dead lawyer. Boxes littered the floor, and the desk looked very haphazard. Greg theorized, maybe the killer needed some information from his dead lawyer that he didn't want falling into the hands of someone else. And Liffan just happened to be there. But that made no sense. Tim Black had died several months ago. Why wait this long to get the information? No, what had happened in this room was someone cleaning up the place after the dead lawyer's departure from the world.

Leaving Black's office he moved to the last doorway where the light shone through. Standing in the doorway he looked over the primary crime scene. The lawyer had a single gun shot to the forehead, and blood had dripped onto the papers on his desk. On the beige carpet Greg noticed a spot of blood that had been stepped in. He moved and saw a fainter identical transfer of the drop closer to the door. He snapped off a few pictures of the two drops before getting a few of the dead lawyer.

Carefully walking around the blood spatter and transfer on the carpet he walked around the desk and peered over Liffan's shoulder. A name on the top sheet covered in blood spatter caught his eye and he looked closer. His eyes widened as he reached for his cell phone.

* * *

"He's just up the next block," Brass said as he, Detective Omar from the LAPD, and Nick Sanders-Stokes (officially only Stokes while on the job) hoofed it up the steep incline of the street.

"So, how did you find him?" Nick asked the Captain.

"Ah, he's never home, so I had the black and whites keep an eye out for his limo. One of them spotted it and pulled it over. He should be waiting for us when we get there.

Nick's cell phone started to ring.

"Stokes," he answered, wishing for the millionth time since he and Greg had gotten married that he could answer his work phone with their hyphenated names together.

"Hey, it's Greg. Got a question for you."

"Shoot."

"Have you talked to The Devil yet?"

"Nope. Just getting there though. Why?"

"You might want to ask him what his lawyer's doing with a bullet in his brain."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Do I kid, Nick?"

"No. No, you don't. So what you're saying is that the cases are connected?"

"Yup. Looks that way. I'm looking at a bloody sheet of paper here says Ben Liffan was stealing money out from under The Devil's nose for quite some time. What do you suppose he learned about it recently and wanted to get back at him for it?"

"It's possible. Well, look, we're almost to this guy's doorstep. I'll give you a call when we're done and help you process the scene."

"Don't worry about it. This won't take long. I'll meet you back at the lab."

"Sure thing."

When Nick hung up he told the other two what Greg had said. They nodded and seemed to be mulling it over when they reached the limo. Brass knocked on the back side window and the door opened for them, revealing a well dressed man, a little over weight with a small beard.

"Well if it isn't Tony Biggs, aka 'The Devil', how're you doing?" Brass asked. "You gonna let us in?"

"Yeah, not like I got much choice in the matter. What's with you guys pulling me over like this? Huh?" The Devil asked.

Captain Brass, Detective Omar, and Nick Stokes climbed into the back of the limo with the crime boss. Nick closed the door after him.

"So, Biggs, what can you tell me about John Winters?" Brass asked in a non-assuming tone.

"What about him?"

"Did he steal money from you? Perhaps drugs too? Maybe some weapons?"

"Yeah he stole from me! Drugs and money. Say, there wouldn't happen to be a chance I can get that back, would there?"

"Um, no. I'm terribly sorry."

"Then what are you here for, if you're not here to give me my money back?"

"We were wondering if you knew what happened to Winters. You know, where he is?"

"How the hell should I know? If I did, don't you think I wouldn't be asking you about my money that he stole?"

"Yes, exactly. Because something's happened to him."

"What do you mean?! I'll never see that money again? Damn! That rat scumbag! I knew he was bad news. I knew it! Why did I listen to him?! Why?" Tony Biggs seemed to berate himself for his foolish choices, but to Nick, it was just an act.

"So, you don't know how he died? You didn't have a hand in it?" Nick asked.

"Hey! They guy owed me money! Why would I knock him off before he gave it back?"

"Maybe because you knew he wouldn't give it back?" Detective Omar suggested. "And besides, you've got how much money in your accounts?"

"Oh, but that's right," Nick jumped in. "You were losing several grand a month from your lawyer. Several grand more than you were paying him."

"What?" Tony made a big show of looking confused.

"Your lawyer, Ben Liffan, was stealing from you. You didn't know that?"

"What the hell?! My lawyer?! How do you know that?"

"He was killed. Same way Winters was. And his records show an increase in money on his end with a decrease on yours. Care to explain that?"

"Huh? What? Did you catch him and figure you'd just pop him in the head and be done with it?" Brass asked.

"This is just pure coincidence. I would never have killed him and let the body lay in plain sight! I'm not that dumb. Besides, I'm not dumb enough if I wanted someone dead, to go and kill them myself. Someone else killed these men, and the only thing you have on them is a link to me. That's pretty pathetic, if you ask me. I mean, come on, surely you must know that there's a list of people, a whole list, who would want Winters dead. He took off with everyone's money! And don't get me started on Liffan. He was a crappy lawyer."

"So, you're one of the biggest crime bosses in this city, yet, you pay crappy lawyers for their time and dealings, and you employ a drug dealer who steals people's money. Why would you do that?"

"Hey, I didn't know Winters would steal my money and the drugs until after I'd hired him. That's when I started hearing all the stories. I've known for a little while what a crappy lawyer Liffan was, and I was planning on dumping him as soon as I could hire a replacement. But I didn't know he was stealing my money!"

* * *

"Hey Bobby, did you get that bullet I left for you earlier?" Greg asked after knocking on the ballistics tech's door.

"Oh, hey Greg. Yeah, I did. And it was a match to the one found in the first victim, John Winters."

"Thanks. That's just what I needed to hear."

"Well, you're welcome."

Greg turned to leave, but changed his mind at the last moment. He faced Bobby again. "You know, I'm real sorry for freaking out the other day. I didn't mean to. It's a long story, I can't really tell anyone."

"Don't worry about it. I completely understand. And I never, and don't intend, on telling anyone."

"Thanks Bobby D. That means a lot."

Bobby just smiled and he left the lab on the hunt for his husband.

Just as Greg reached the layout room where the two detectives were looking at the evidence along with Nick, his cell phone rang.

"Sanders," he answered, stopping in the doorway.

Nick looked up from the table to see Greg and smiled.

"Oh! Thank God I reached you!" Greg snapped to attention at the frantic woman's voice on the other end of the line.

"Mom? Is everything ok?" He moved from the doorway back out into the hall, away from the detectives who didn't need to hear the private conversation.

"No! Everything is not ok!" Jillian Stokes nearly screamed. "I can't get a hold of Nicky! I know he's at work. I called his work phone like, ten times! And then I called his personal cell ten more times and he still isn't answering or calling me back! Please tell me he's ok! Greg, I don't want anything else to happen to my boy, you know what he's been through on the job!"

Staring at the floor Greg felt shivers running through his spine. The same shivers he'd had for over a week during and after Nick's rescue from the grave. A few seconds later he felt a light, comforting hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Nick standing beside him. He shook his head at his husband, motioning for him to go back to work that he had everything covered.

"Yes, Mom. I know. I know. Trust me, Nick is just fine."

Nick raised his eyebrows to ask if he was sure and he nodded. Nick got up and went back to the layout room.

Jillian sighed. "Oh, thank you!" she sounded tired now.

"What did you want to tell him? I'll pass the message along and he'll call you when he gets home. You know you're not supposed to call either of us on our work cells unless it's an emergency."

"It was an emergency!" the franticness in her voice returned for a brief moment before she calmed down again. "I'm sorry, Greggy. I was just wanting to know when you'd be down for Christmas. Have you figured it out yet?"

This time it was Greg's turn to sigh. "No. We don't know yet. I'll talk to the boss after shift and see what he says. But I can't guarantee anything Mom. This case we're working on is huge. We might be stuck working through Christmas this year."

"Oh, not again! You had to do that the year before last, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember. Look, I've gotta go. I'm at work, remember? I'll have Nicky call you when we get home. Ok?"

"Yeah, ok," Mrs. Stokes sounded a little defeated as she hung up the phone.

Greg went back to the layout room and saw the cell phone attached to his husband's hip.

"Everything ok?" Nick asked. "That was Mom?"

"Yeah."

"I'm beginning to think she likes you more than me. When was the last time I got to talk to her? So, is everything ok?"

"Everything's fine. But your cell is dead. She called you, probably twenty times between your work number and your personal cell. When she couldn't get you, she thought the worst and called me." Greg did his best to keep cool under the circumstances, especially with Omar and Brass not two feet away listening in when all he wanted to do was scream.

"Oh." Nick took his cell from the belt clip and checked it out. "Battery's dead. Guess we'll have to stop and get a new one on the way home later. Um, so what did she want then?"

"The same thing she wants every year at this time. I told her I'd talk to Griss about it after shift." His cell phone began to ring again. "Well, since yours is out of commission, it's entirely possible this person wants to talk to you, so I might as well take your calls too," Greg said, half jokingly, to keep the tension from his voice.

"So, you two didn't hyphenate or change names or anything?" Greg heard Detective Omar asking Nick as he turned away for a moment to answer his phone.

"Sanders-Stokes," their hyphenated last name came so smoothly to his lips yet it was the last thing he wanted to say. He had to keep his personal life separate from his work life. He could have just as easily said 'Sanders and Stokes'. But no, he'd had to blurt out the hyphenated version.

"Since when do you use that variant to answer your work phone?"

"Since Nick's phone just died. I'm apparently taking his calls too. Sorry boss, the hyphenated version didn't mean to slip out like that."

"No worries, Greg. It happens. Besides, I'm glad. I needed to talk to Nick anyway and hoped you knew where he was."

"We're in the layout room, about to go over the evidence to the case."

"Perfect. That's just where I want you. Give me a few minutes and I'll be there shortly," Grissom said before hanging up.

With his back still facing the other three Greg took a deep breath and did his best to relax before he hung up the phone and turned back to face them.


	7. Chapter 7

CSI: Ghost: Chapter 7

A/N: As usual, I hope you enjoy this update, and don't forget to post a review cause I love feedback!

* * *

All Greg wanted at that moment was to escape the lab, get some fresh air, and try to forget everything that had been happening. He and Nick had already freaked out on each other earlier, and now, his Mom was freaking out too. How long would this go on? Would Catherine freak next? And then Warrick and Grissom? Or was this genetically and marriage related? It didn't matter. He wanted to keep this separate, but Nick's mother made that impossible. She had to call. For a stupid reason. It was only December first, after all. There was plenty of time to determine when they'd get off. If they even would this year, which he was beginning to doubt very much. And so she'd called and her call had alerted Nick who would go into full husband mode no matter where they were or what they were doing if he thought the situation required it, like a good son and husband should. Greg loved him for it, but at the same time it didn't help. If they were allowed to be close at work things would be different. He was going to go insane if he didn't get out of there soon. Never the less, he managed to keep his exterior as calm as possible. He didn't want to alert anyone to his issues, least of all, Nick. He would just have to wait it out and escape later as soon as he could.

"Ok, so what have we got so far?" Gil Grissom asked as he entered the layout room with a notepad under his arm.

"Well," Greg started off. "The latest crime scene was crazy, that's for sure. But it was definitely a match to the first. The same gun was used, same type of bullet. Underneath the dead lawyer, I found these papers with Tony Biggs's name on them." Greg pointed toward the bagged evidence and everyone followed his finger.

"So, Ben was stealing money from Tony?" Grissom asked for clarification.

"Apparently so. Now, none of the prints I found in the entire office belonged to anyone other than Liffan and his secretary, Jane. She had nothing to say when she found out. She said she clocked out at 5pm, her usual time, and left Liffan there, at the office, with the door locked. She said this was a normal occurrence. He always stayed late to catch up on work he missed. And since he's not married, he's got no where else to be, no one to miss him anywhere. The only place that would miss him is his desk. I did find one interesting thing though, the part that makes it crazy."

Everyone looked up in interest and then back down again at the table when Greg pointed toward the shoe prints he'd lifted off the beige carpet.

"Those are Liffan's shoe prints. And yes, that's blood transfer in the print. Which suggests that he was walking away from the desk after he got shot. Which, I did note, makes no sense since he was shot in the head and found dead in his desk chair. The blood was a single spatter, which transferred to the shoe, and was left in the print as the shoe walked out the door. But Liffan was wearing his shoes. Both of them. They weren't retied that I could tell. Both tied the same way. So, it makes no sense. It looks like no one else was there, but yet, someone had to be for the shoe prints to come out that way."

"Well, you did good work, Greg," Grissom commended. "I just wish it had gotten us a little more. What about you, Nicky, you find anything important?"

"I just went to talk to Biggs with these two. We got nothing out of him. Nothing at all."

"Yeah, he claims he didn't know Winters was a scum bag until after he'd lost his money and his drugs," Detective Omar said.

"Not only that, but he didn't know his lawyer was stealing from him either. Said he'd just found out the lawyer was scum too, and was going to bail as soon as he found a replacement. How do you like that? The guy's got so much money he didn't notice Liffan taking a bunch for himself every month. Crazy. I wish he'd share a little of that dough cause I sure could use some," Brass joked.

"Oh, and I did a search on Liffan's other clients, since Tony said others had complained too. It's true. No one seemed to like the guy much. One client of his even sent him a nasty Christmas card last year. So, if you're looking for one of them as a suspect, your list is a mile long. Personally though, this links up with Winters's death, so my money's on Tony," Greg said, doing his best to act as normal as possible when what he really needed was solitude. Solitude and a good cigarette.

"So, Griss, what have you got? You were looking further into the first scene with Winters and the other twelve, right?"

"Yeah. I got nothing there either. The time line I thought I could work out with their facial expressions really doesn't help us much. It all happened in just a few short minutes. I saw the tire treads you snapped Nick, and we're working on prints for those now, but it's not working. The car they're a match to normally, hasn't been seen in that area. And the shoe prints, well, outlines, that you also found on your perimeter search netted nothing. Distinct though. Like that other case where the guy got rid of his fingerprints. Which made him stand out even more, but here, it's only shoes. They can be taken off. So, there's no link unless we find someone wearing those shoes. However, we do have a little more information."

"We do?"

"Yeah, someone remembered a few killings last year that sounded similar. I dug through evidence and pulled up dozens of cases over the last few years that have been unsolved, but are remarkably similar. I want you, Nick and Greg, to go down to the evidence locker and bring up all those boxes. I think we're also going to have to bring in Catherine and Warrick once their cases are done. If all these are the same guy, or guys, this will quickly become a federal matter, and I don't want it to get that far. Ok?"

"Yeah, sure boss," Nick said, already on his way out the door.

Escape just wouldn't come fast enough for Greg.

* * *

Greg leaned on the side of the convenience store across the street from the lab. He hadn't even bothered with a bag. All he'd needed was a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Lighting up a smoke he slide the pack into his pocket along with the lighter. He brought the cigarette to his lips and enjoyed the first bit of nicotine that slid down his throat. Letting the smoke out in a smooth blow he already felt his body relaxing as he concentrated on the smoke curling up into the air.

He'd helped Nick carry the boxes from the evidence room and had even gone through some of them with him. But he was going more insane each moment he was stuck there. Claiming he needed a bathroom break and that he would be back shortly, he had darted out of the lab as soon as he could. But he knew he'd be gone a long while. He'd already been gone fifteen minutes. He hoped Nick wasn't worrying about his absence. He just needed some air, some alone time, with his phone off. He could joke about Nick's mother calling in front of other people a little, but the truth was that it unnerved him a great deal, no matter how much he told Nick he was fine. He didn't want this to make him go insane, though he was afraid it would, that perhaps it already had. In reality it was a minor thing. They had to keep their lives separate. That was all. But he'd devoted his last six years to it and so far everything had stayed put in it's proper place. He knew if he saw a therapist about it they'd probably label him as obsessed over it. But he had to be. They'd promised Ecklie they would stay professional at work, keep their lives separate just so they could stay on the graveyard shift together, so that they could even continue to work cases together. He knew if they slipped up, even once, even something as minor as Mom calling the wrong number, if Ecklie found out, not only would they be taken off the cases they worked together, but they'd be forced to split up and work on separate teams, to never see each other again. And there was always the chance their past cases could be called into question. Neither of these things were anything he wanted to think about. All he'd wanted was a simple life. To have a steady job and a husband who loved him. That's all he'd ever wanted his entire life. And since he'd had the chance, with the lab and then with Nick, he wanted nothing to go wrong.

He sucked in the nicotine and let the smoke out slowly, watching as it curled up into the air and disappeared. It was something simple, almost beautiful, the same way smoke was after blowing out a candle, except in that sense it smelled better. But he was a CSI now, and he could tolerate all sorts of horrible smells. A decomposing body was a lot worse then the cigarette in his hand.

He wasn't supposed to go to Stanford. He wasn't supposed to become the DNA Analyst at LVPD or a CSI. And once he'd gotten his dream job, he wasn't supposed to fall in love with Nick Stokes. Relationships within the lab were frowned upon. They were lucky Ecklie hadn't fired one of them on the spot when he found out. Greg was tired of having to slip into zones, to be forced to concentrate on only one aspect of his life at a time. Keeping them separate was hard, especially when he worked with the man he loved. Seeing Nick processing a crime scene, or talking to someone in the lab, he just wanted to be able to show his affection for the man in public, to be able to hold him and tell him how much he loved him after a rough case. He hated having to wait until they got home. He could feel the tension of his life draining him, as much as he loved his life and wanted nothing to change.

Even though being a CSI was his dream job, maybe it was time to consider a career change. He was sure there had to be something he could do nights, while Nick worked graveyard so that they could still see each other during the day. But could they survive without his pay for awhile if he quit? No, he knew another job wasn't going to help their situation. Nick would never allow him to quit his dream job just for this.

Greg sighed and blew out more smoke. His cigarette was almost gone and he was considering lighting up a new one before going back to work. He knew he'd been gone a long time, but he wasn't ready to go back just yet. He was still hoping Nick wouldn't worry about him being gone, especially if he tried to call and only got his voicemail.

* * *

Nick was worried. No, worried didn't begin to cover it. Greg had been gone for over half an hour, when he should have only been a few minutes. He'd looked all over the lab but no one had seen him. He'd just tried to call him and only got his voicemail. He knew Greg would catch his emotions in the message he'd left. He couldn't help it.

"You're looking for Greg?" Hodges asked when Nick nearly ran into him.

Nick backed up, and shook his head to clear it.

"Yeah. Have you seen him? And don't lie to me, Hodges. Cause if you do I'm not in a pleasant..."

"I know! I know, I'm not gonna lie to you! I swear! But awhile ago I saw him head across the street to the convenience corner. That was the last time I saw him."

Nick didn't even thank him as he rushed out the door, wondering why Greg was worrying him more and more with each passing day lately. Again, he knew it was going to be something minor, like the forgotten note. Nothing to freak out over, but he couldn't help himself. He had this funny feeling inside. Just when he was contemplating going back to therapy to see what was wrong with him he saw Greg. He'd know that outline anywhere.

But then he froze. What was Greg doing? There was a spark of light, a flame, and was that...? Nick walked over, slowly, trying to calm his own nerves, when he saw that his husband was actually shaking. He wasn't sure if he should be upset or worried, but he knew something was wrong. Something had to be because he'd never known Greg to smoke in all the years they'd known each other and the five that they'd been married. He wondered if he should ask Greg what was wrong, or yell at him for killing himself with nicotine. But then he didn't have to choose because Greg turned around and saw him standing there, and the look on his face, before he registered Nick's presence, was as if he'd seen a ghost.

Nick was by his side in an instant putting an arm around Greg's shoulders.

"Nick?" Greg shrugged out of his grasp. "What are you doing here?"

"I came looking for you. I got worried when you didn't come back and no one had seen you. Are you ok? And why are you smoking?" He couldn't help himself, the question just slipped out of his mouth so easily.

Greg edged away from him, the cigarette shaking in his hand as he moved it to his lips.

"I'm sorry. I'm fine. Really. I was just about to come back. I just needed some fresh air, that's all."

"Greg, how can you get fresh air with that smoke?"

"It's an old habit. I was forced to get into smoking when I was in that gang. And I got hooked. It calms me down. I just... I stopped, when I was at Stanford. Quit. And I haven't needed it since."

"But now you do. Why? What's wrong?" Nick asked, quietly.

"Your mother called," Greg blurted.

"Oh, honey, come on."

Nick moved closer again.

"No. No, don't go into husband mode. Not here. Not now. You have to wait. Please."

"We're not at work right now, G."

"Yes. We are. I can see the lab from here. Anyone could see us and we're still on the clock. Don't touch me."

Though his face was wreathed in shadows Nick could hear the pain in Greg's voice and it almost broke his heart. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Fine, I'll stand right here," he said. "But it has to be more than what you're telling me. I know you get into zones and you don't like it when they meet, but you're shaking. And I haven't seen you do that since..."

"I know. She freaked out, alright? She reminded me of things I wanted to forget. I don't like to think that I almost lost you once."

"Hey, I almost lost you too, you know."

"I know. I'm sorry. It just... I almost freaked out again. And almost freaking out freaked me out. I just needed to calm down. I'm fine. I'll be fine. And don't worry, I got some of your favorite gum to cover the smell. I know how much you hate cigarette smoke."

"G, it's not the smell I'm worried about so much. It's the fact that those things will kill you over time, and lord knows I don't want to lose you, especially to something you can control."

* * *

Greg lay awake in bed early the next morning letting his thoughts rule his mind. Nick was right behind him, holding him close in that way that always calmed him down and comforted him when he was troubled. This time, it wasn't working. But he didn't want to tell Nick what was going on. He couldn't tell Nick just how deep his fears went. His lives were leaking together, in a very bad way. It was scaring him, because he knew they could do damage to the perfect life he'd built around Nick if anything happened. He loved Nick with everything he had and he didn't want anything to happen to them, anything to come between them, but he was afraid something would arise out of his lives colliding and pull them apart. This simple life was what he'd always wanted. Nothing more. But it was a life he wasn't supposed to have, which meant that something would surely come and yank him away from it. He saw the pack of cigarettes on his nightstand and remembered the smoking. It was a bad habit, and Nick hated it. That alone would take him away from his love. He would have to throw the rest away. He would have to forge on, like always, and not let a single, innocent, phone call ruin everything he'd worked hard for.

Something deep down in his soul told him they wouldn't be going to Dallas for Christmas that year. It repeated over and over and over again in his mind like a broken record that refused to stop. The thought filled his mind so completely that he almost didn't feel Nick's thumb gently rubbing a small section of his bare chest, letting him know he was still there. And then a beautiful kiss landed on his shoulder.

"I love you," Nick whispered into his ear as he stared off into the darkness.

* * *

Nick knew Greg was awake as he wrapped his arm around him and held him tight. He wondered what was really going on in his mind. When they'd gotten home Greg had gone straight to bed without breakfast, claiming he wasn't hungry and didn't want to talk about what had happened. Something was bothering Greg big time, he just didn't know what it was. In the past five years they'd been married Greg had been cool and calm in almost any circumstance and was always in control. He'd made leaps and bounds since the lab explosion and the beating. But now? Suddenly it was like they were going back in time again, only this time things seemed worse. He knew Greg didn't like to think of his lives colliding together and they were. The first time he'd pulled his gun on him, bringing his love life into his work life. Then his past with the gang came up with ballistics. And that night his Mom had called, once again bringing his private life smack into his work life.

Sure Nick knew they had to keep things separate in order to work together, but Greg was taking things a little too far. Maybe he should suggest seeing someone about it, maybe a therapist could help him. Or maybe he could quit CSI and find another job at night, so they wouldn't have to worry so much about the PDAs. But could they live without the combined income until he found another job? No, that wouldn't work because he knew Greg would hate the idea of him quitting his dream job. There wasn't much he could do except show his support and keep doing as they'd always done, keeping things separate.

And then he remembered that Greg had told his Mom he'd call her when they got home and he'd forgotten. He prayed that she wouldn't freak out and call them, because right now, Greg needed him more than his mother need to know when they were getting home for Christmas. If they were able to. The way things were going, he had a feeling a nice quiet Christmas with just himself and Greg would be the better idea, especially if Greg's currently worked up state continued into Christmas.

There was nothing he could do other than show support and let Greg know how much he still loved him, how much he always would, no matter what. He absentmindedly began to rub his thumb over his husband's smooth skin, which helped to calm his own worries, and he hoped, Greg's as well. He leaned over and gently brushed his lips over Greg's shoulder before whispering "I love you" into his ear.

Greg turned over to face him and he saw a few tears escaping down his cheeks. He wanted to say something, to ask what was wrong, but he didn't. He knew Greg wouldn't say anything if he did. Instead, he brushed the tears away quietly.

"You're so perfect," Greg whispered, locking eyes with him. "I love you so much."

Nick just pulled him closer and let him burrow his head in the crook of his shoulder until they'd both fallen asleep.

* * *

A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! 


	8. Chapter 8

CSI: Gost: Chapter 8

A/N: I'm glad you're all enjoying this, it makes me very happy to read your wonderful reviews, so keep 'em coming and keep enjoying this and I'll keep writing! Thanks guys and gals!

* * *

Nick saw the heavy storm clouds brewing in the distance but he really didn't care. Nor did he really know where he was. He'd left home for a long walk to be able to think things through a while ago, and hadn't paid much attention to where he was going. Now, he was on some street he'd never seen before, though in his neighborhood they all looked the same anyway, and a storm was brewing. He stared at the ground as he walked, knowing that the kids in the yard across the street were probably pointing at him and asking questions of their parents.

He and Greg had gone through the older, unsolved cases the night before and couldn't really make heads or tails of them. The same guns had been used in all of them as had been used in their two recent cases but that was the only real connection they had. Only some of them could be connected to Tony Biggs, but even those connections weren't strong.

The case was at a dead end, and he was afraid other things would turn into one too if they didn't get resolved. Namely he was thinking about Greg. He didn't want to jump to conclusions but it felt like Greg was starting to become distant. It wasn't like he hadn't had these feelings before. There were other times in the past when Greg had seemed distant but they'd all been short periods of time. This time, he felt like the situation was different somehow, like a storm was brewing, and it would get huge before it was over. Larger than anything either of them had weathered together before. Of course he still loved Greg. He always had and he always would. He just wished Greg would talk to him, tell him exactly what was going on. Nick knew it was more than just their private lives mixing with their professional lives. He just didn't know what it was and he couldn't help Greg when he didn't know what was really wrong.

He remembered seeing him with the cigarette, watching him watch the smoke curling up into the night sky. It had seemed eerie the way he was cool and calm about smoking, as if he'd done it his whole life. And he had. When he was in the gang. Nick shuddered at the thought. He wished he knew more about the gang. Sure it was in Greg's past, but sometimes the past came back to bite you in the future. The gang could still have an affect on him even today, similar to the way his babysitter did. But Greg wouldn't talk about it.

Without warning the sky opened up and rain pelted down without mercy. Nick stopped walking and lifted his face up to the sky, almost wondering why it had suddenly started to rain, as if he'd forgotten about the storm nature was brewing. He looked around him, he still wasn't ready to go home, and he supposed it didn't matter anyway because he still didn't know what street he was on. Already he was soaked through to his skin and he felt chills running up and down his spine as he continued to walk, head hanging down. A burst of thunder pounded over head and was followed just a few seconds later by a streak of lightning across the sky. He really needed to get out of this weather if he wanted to make it home to Greg.

He just wanted to understand what Greg was thinking, that was all. Maybe then he wouldn't feel like his husband was trying to distance himself from him. He didn't want things to end between them, and he was sure Greg felt the same way. Didn't he? He had to since he'd always denied bad things were coming between then. Nick wanted to believe him. He really did. And maybe Greg was right. Maybe it was just his overactive imagination trying to find something, anything to prove things were going down hill just because they weren't. He knew so many people who's marriages were on the rocks by the end of the first year, that he was confused as to how theirs had lasted for five already. Everything was perfect between them, he was just making excuses, looking for the minutest of evidence which didn't mean a damned thing. They were fine, he told himself, and he had to believe it.

Another burst of thunder clapped and a streak of lightning followed close behind, with more thunder and more lightning mere seconds away. Now he just had to concentrate on getting home. Home, where he belonged.

A loud car horn beeped behind him, making him jump a mile out of his skin. And then he saw Greg's little Jetta driving carefully around him and coming to a complete stop. He didn't wait for an express invitation but hurried around to the passenger side and got in.

"You have no idea how long it took me to find you!" Greg exclaimed when he shut the door and they were on their way. "As soon as I saw the storm coming, I knew you'd gotten lost again."

It was true. This wasn't the first time he'd gotten lost on a long walk. He hung his head, feeling bad about it. He really should have been more careful.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Don't worry about it. That's what I'm here for. To come find you when you need me to," Greg smiled his usual goofy smile and Nick returned it.

They were still cool.

* * *

Geoff Baker strolled through the department store like he owned the place. Sure he had a perfectly suitable suit, but he'd had it for a few years and it was time for an upgrade. A grand upgrade. He wanted his next target to think he was a swank millionaire at dinner. He smiled his usual grand toothy grin and watched all the ladies swoon after him as he passed. He was a handsome man when he wanted to be and he knew it.

Cruising into the suit department he met the tailor just finishing up with someone.

"Hello sir and what can I do for you today?" the elder man asked in a friendly manner.

"I'm looking for a suit. Obviously, since I'm here. I want one that shows I've got money to spend, because I do, and I'm willing to give top dollar for your best!"

"Well, then come right on over here and I'll show you what we've got."

The man walked him over to a rack and turned, sizing him up, before he pulled a few suits off the rack. Why don't you go ahead and try these on. The dressing room is right over there, and remember all of these can be taken in or let out if need be."

"Thank you," Geoff said, taking the hangers he was offered.

Inside the dressing room he surveyed what the man had chosen. He was pleased. All of them were styles he would wear. But the one he liked the best was a black pinstripe. It looked fitting for the occasion and the lie he would be weaving all throughout dinner. He tried it on, making sure the ring on the silver chain was tucked carefully underneath the black dress shirt, and found that it fit pretty good. Looking in the mirror all he needed now was a pair of dress shoes, and a fedora to match. He grinned. This was going to be fun.

"Oh, that looks good on you!" the elder man commented when he emerged with the suit on. "It just looks a little long on the leg, but we can fix that real easily."

"I'll need it done by tomorrow morning. Will that be a problem?"

"None at all! Come, stand up here, face the mirror and I can get these pinned up."

Geoff did as instructed. Now, standing in a three way mirror he found he could really enjoy the look of himself in the suit. Remembering the job he was to do after dinner the following night he imagined blood spatter covering his brand new suit and wondered how good it would look. Maybe he'd save it as a souvenir in his apartment, hang it up on the wall as his only form of art.

Lately, it seemed as if his boss had many jobs for him. Usually there were only about four in a whole year, spread apart by months. This netted him roughly eighty thousand dollars a year, which was a pretty good deal, especially since he hardly went out on shopping sprees and his apartment was on the grungier side. He was loaded. And his boss hardly knew just how loaded he was. The only thing he spent money on was his Dodge Viper, which was kept in top condition. If he wasn't under contract he'd definitely opt out of the assassin business. He could live off the rest of his life doing whatever he pleased and he wasn't even forty yet. Ah, life could be good. Could be. But that contract always managed to get in the way of things. Kept him secured in his job. There was no way he could break it, no matter how much he might have wanted to.

Sure he enjoyed his job, the freedom he had to do what law abiding citizens couldn't do, but it wasn't all fun and games. He had to be careful. He always had to make sure he wouldn't get caught. Getting out of the job would ease his mind a little bit, help him relax, something he'd forgotten how to do a long time ago, even if he made it look different in his outward appearance.

So, his boss had ramped up the ammo, against those he didn't like lately. Either that, or he suddenly had more people turning on him. Well, these people weren't under contract from a previous crime boss, like he was. Hell, he was an assassin, he could just as easily wipe out the problem slick as a whistle and not have to kill another living soul again, live free and clear for the rest of his life, just like he had always wanted.

But there was a problem with that thought. The Devil was a huge crime boss. One of the biggest in the whole country. If someone were to take him out, people would notice. Sure he was good at what he did and could hide the evidence so no one suspected a thing, but this wasn't something one took lightly. Things could come around to him. Slick as a whistle it would be, but that didn't make it any easier. In fact, it would be his most difficult job to date with all the security and personnel The Devil had with him at his mansion. The place was huge. He'd have to take out everyone. Including the innocent maid who knew nothing and didn't even speak an ounce of English. With a job like that, it was possible some evidence could be left behind.

No, he was stuck in the job until The Devil determined he was a big enough crime boss that no one would turn on him. He sighed, hoping the days when fewer jobs would return. Maybe he would go somewhere, to a spa and get a massage, attempt to learn to relax, spend a little of his hard earned cash..

"Ok, you're all set, sir," the tailor said, standing up. "If you'll go change back, we can finish up here."

Looking back up at himself in the three way mirror Geoff saw the blood spattered across the lapels of the suit. It would look beautiful when he was done.

* * *

"Nick? You ok?" Catherine asked when she saw him in the break room huddled around a warm cup of coffee.

"Yeah. I'm fine. I just got caught in that down pour earlier and I'm suffering some after affects, I guess."

"Yeah, Greg told me about that."

"Great. He did?"

"Yeah, said you went out for a walk, got lost, again, and he found you just as the storm really started to kick in."

"It's all true."

"So, this isn't the first time it's happened?"

Nick sighed. "No." Truth was the best option right now, he figured, as chills ran up his spine. If only Greg didn't have a fear of their lives coming together he'd be there right then with his arms around him, helping to keep him warm. "I like to go on walks to think. I don't pay attention to where I'm going sometimes. That's all."

"Well, I'll say you sure are lucky to have Greg around then. Otherwise we'd be scraping your charred remains off the pavement."

"Thanks for the image, Cath. It really helps."

"You two aren't having problems, are you?"

"What makes you say that?" Nick looked up, startled by her words.

"Well, this is usually what happens when problems come up. I mean, so far, your marriage has been perfect, right?"

"Mostly, yeah."

"But it can't always be."

"Cath, can we not be talking about this right now. I'd rather not. I don't want to think of problems coming between us. At all. I'll be honest, the thought scares the shit out of me. So, leave it alone."

"Of course it does. It scares the shit out of everyone, Nicky."

The door opened just then and Warrick entered the room, sitting down heavily in a chair.

"So, I just talked to Sanders, since we're probably about to start working on your case with you. Wanted to get caught up."

"Ok."

"He hasn't been out in the field tonight, has he?"

"What makes you ask that?" Nick wondered.

"I thought I smelled cigarette smoke on him, and I know he doesn't smoke, so I got confused."

Nick felt hope sliding away from him like a bucket of water upturned on his head ending in a puddle at his feet, the way the down pour had done earlier. He rested his head in his hands. "Shit," he whispered.

"Nicky?"

"It's nothing. Nothing."

"It's not nothing, dude. What's going on? Come on, I'm your best friend, you can tell me."

"It's an old habit from when he was younger," Nick admitted. "I thought he said he threw away the rest of the pack."

* * *

A/N: Expect wild action and some angst next chapter. I say this only because there's been a lot of thinking going on in seven and eight and I don't want you to worry that the action is over. It's not. Not by a long shot. This is where the story starts getting really good! 


	9. Chapter 9

CSI: Ghost: Chapter 9

A/N: I just want to thank Ev for correcting my storm mistake in the last chapter: "Lightning comes before thunder. Thunder is the result of a bolt of lightning heating up the air around it very quickly, which causes a shockwave, which we hear as thunder." I guess when I'm in the middle of a thunderstorm I hear it first and see the lightning second, which is what I was thinking with Nick too. He's probably so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't see the lightning until he hears the crash of thunder. Or, you could just look at it as me making an excuse... lol. Anyway, here's chapter nine! Hope you enjoy the update!

* * *

Geoff swaggered through the mansion in his new suit, hat, and shoes, following a servant of The Devil's. When he was lead into the large dinning room he almost stopped and stared at the other man sitting across from his boss. His target was none other than Slick Willson, the largest crime boss currently in Las Vegas, right above The Devil. Shit. The Devil certainly wasn't making his job very easy. Not like he wanted it easy, the last few hits had been too easy, but this? This was huge, almost too huge.

While Tony Biggs was a little overweight with short, dark hair and a suit that was a little tight on him, Slick maintained a slim waist, and looked good in his clothes, even though Geoff knew he could have done better in the suit department. He wasn't even trying to cover up his neatly graying hair. But with Slick, it didn't matter. His hair made him look more distinguished and oddly, more trustworthy, even if he was a crime boss named Slick.

Before he could get caught staring, he got his legs into gear and moved into the room, sliding easily into the chair the servant had pulled out for him.

"Ah, Sluggs, good to see you," The Devil greeted him, using the nickname they'd arranged for the dinner to give the hit the slip. They shook hands and he introduced Geoff to Slick.

"Sluggs?" Slick wondered.

"It's a nickname, from my business," he explained.

"You do look like a man of wealth and privilege. What is your business, pray tell? I'm always interested in those that Tony knows, whom I haven't had the pleasure of meeting yet. Have you been in Vegas long? I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so intrusive with my questions."

"Don't be, I'm used to it, actually," Geoff commented as three plates of lobster were set in front of them.

He couldn't help but notice the men standing along the wall on the other side of the elegant table. Men he'd never met before. He was sure these were Slick's bodyguards. He was also equally sure that Tony's bodyguards were lining the wall directly behind him, though he hadn't seen them when he'd come in. He had a feeling Tony Biggs was feeling even more safe than Slick just because he had a hit man sitting at the table and only the two of them knew it.

"Actually, I deal in weapons. Anything you want, I can get. And everything is reasonably priced. I've been here all my life, I just prefer to play things quiet. In my line of business I don't need the whole world knowing where my front door is," he joked.

"Really? Weapons, you say?" Slick began to eat, as he pondered what Geoff had said. "Tony and I were just considering doing business together ourselves."

"Well, in that case, perhaps you have a need I can fulfill?"

"Mmmm, perhaps."

But Slick Willson didn't say anymore about a possible deal between them after that. A few minutes later, after a pleasant silence, he turned to Tony.

"You must tell your chef how wonderful this lobster is. I believe it's the best I've ever had."

"Why thank you."

If he'd been alone, perhaps watching this scene unfold through a two way mirror, Geoff would have laughed his ass off. It was all pleasantries. All stupidness. They were both pretending and he knew it. Of course Tony was. The Devil wanted him to kill the other boss when dinner was over. But the way Slick was handling himself, the way he was talking, clearly suggested he had ulterior motives as well. Maybe one of the men standing behind the table was another hit man, sent to kill Tony once dinner was over. Well, in that case, they were even, weren't they? If they were, or they weren't, it didn't matter. Slick would die, either way.

Geoff brought himself back to the conversation and found them discussing their business arrangements. They were going to take over the city jointly, it seemed. He suppressed another laugh. It sounded like a really bad children's cartoon. The one where the bad guy is trying to take over the world by stealing all the cheese or something equally dumb. But it wasn't like he'd grown up watching cartoons. He'd missed all the good ones.

So, they were going to jointly own the city, be crime bosses working together for a common goal. Ha! The whole idea sounded ludicrous. If Slick had been a smart man, smart enough to become the top crime boss in Las Vegas, how the hell had he fallen for this trick of The Devil's? Lord only knew.

When Tony brought up Sluggs' name again he looked up from his delicious dinner and threw in a few comments of his own. His boss had the idea that he could supply them with all the weapons they'd need to cover the city. He assured them he could. Sure he had a whole warehouse full of machine guns just ready to be used for whatever purpose they had in mind. Sure.

He stifled a laugh into a bite of his lobster.

Two hours later when all six courses had been served and eaten, and Slick and Tony had discussed things through, the three men stood up to leave the table. And just as he'd suspected, The Devil's own men lined the opposite wall, just in case. Tony escorted them to the front door, Slick's bodyguards following close behind. Geoff found his Viper waiting right where he'd parked it while Slick's had been brought up to the door by his personal driver. He got into his car and watched carefully as two bodyguards got into the limo with Slick. The rest of the troupe got into other equally high end cars and the motorcade like parade left the driveway and made a right outside of the gate at the end of the property.

Geoff gunned the Viper's engine and roared to the gate where he made a left turn, down the hill. When he couldn't be seen by anyone, he pulled off the road and gathered his weapons onto the passenger seat. When he was sure all was ready, he pealed out and spun around speeding after Slick and his motorcade. Once he had them in sight he made sure to keep a safe distance.

Reaching into his breast pocket he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and slid one out of the half empty box. Putting it to his lips he flicked the lighter and lit the cigarette. This was going to be fun! How many chances did one get to take out a huge crime boss? Not many, and Geoff figured this would be his only chance. In previous years he'd only taken out the smaller criminals, the ants on the sidewalk. Now, he had the chance to wipe the city clean of a large menace, the fat kid who fed the ants by dropping food everywhere he went, drops of ketchup and mustard along with bits of a large hot dog that hadn't made it all the way into his greedy mouth. That's who he was going after this time, though he wasn't looking to put him on a diet.

As they neared the edge of the city he wondered where they were going. As far as he knew Slick's estate was on the other side. But his job wasn't to care about that. Just to kill him and be done with it. Up ahead was a lonely gas station. It was now or never. He was far enough away, that they couldn't tell who he was, or that he'd been following them. But that didn't mean his aim was any less good than it was up close.

Finding his revolver in the darkened car, he cocked it and rolled down his window. Reaching out with his left hand, the cigarette between his fore and middle fingers on his right hand wrapped around the steering wheel, he squeezed off a shot. The first car in front of him swerved off the road toward the gas station, it's rear tire blown out. He fired again, the second car following the first. Next came the limo.

He was prepared for this. His weapons were ready on the passenger seat when he needed to jump out of the car and finish everyone off, it would only take a few seconds. And one last bullet in his revolver would find its mark in the forehead of Slick Willson. He grinned at the thought. Maybe this job wouldn't be so hard after all.

The limo's back tired blew out with the next squeeze of the trigger, and followed the first two cars. But the last two, leading the way stopped. They slowed down and spun back to the failing limo. Geoff cut his wheel hard to the right, pulling off into the parking lot just as the limo hit one of the gas pumps. He saw the manager step outside to see what was going on as a spark came alive and the limo burst into flames.

Geoff jumped out of the Viper, moving the cigarette back to his lips, clutching an AK-47. He wiped out the bodyguards from the first two cars, as they climbed out and began aiming their own weapons at him. He turned to the limo just to see Slick being hurried and pushed into one of the last cars, already speeding out of the lot. He aimed his AK-47 and slammed bullets into the back of the car, but none of them made it to any of the tires, and the car got away. Still frozen in the doorway of the station, the manager gaped at the destruction, and the car on fire.

"You'd better get down, before that thing blows," Geoff said in a calm manor as he raised the weapon one more time and sprayed bullets that brought the man to the ground in a heap. He hadn't wanted to kill the innocent bystander, but he also hadn't want the guy to ID him to the cops.

He leaped back into his Viper, threw the gun on the other seat and sped out of the lot, after the getaway car, not even looking into his rearview when he heard the explosion of the gas pump and the limo. He puffed on his cigarette, nearly begging it to calm his nerves down. Never before had anyone dared escape the wrath of his guns. Never. And now, someone had, and had succeeded. Pushing the pedal all the way down to the floor he searched madly for Slick, but it was as if the crime boss had vanished into the dark night. Simply vanished.

Not willing to let the anger he felt at his loss control him, he put out the stub in the ashtray and reached for another cigarette. He would find the bastard and kill him good. Teach him a lesson in not running away from an assassin who's job it was to kill him. Never again would he let this happen, would he let someone escape. But he had to admit, Slick was making this a lot more interesting than anyone else ever had. He was testing him. Testing his skills as a hit man. He flexed his muscles and loosened his grip on the wheel as he slowed down. He would just have to rethink his next maneuver. This one had been too quick. Next time he would be a little slower, corner him, make sure he couldn't get away.

The Devil wouldn't be disappointed in his work.

* * *

Greg slammed the front door behind him and leaned heavily on it, as he dumped his keys on the nearby table. He heaved a huge, tired, sigh and shouldered off the door.

"Hey, where have you been?" Nick asked when he emerged from the bedroom in his pajamas. He looked tired and Greg wasn't sure whether he'd slept the entire day or not.

"Did you get my note?" he asked in return as he slumped down on the couch, letting his muscles relax.

"Yeah, I got your note. You went on a long drive. Again."

"What more do you need. I told you where I was."

"Greg, I'm just concerned," Nick said as he sat down beside his husband. "I thought I knew you, knew who you are, but now? I'm not so sure. You're coming out with these stories about your childhood I never knew. You're going on long drives, more than you used to. A lot more. You've picked up smoking, and you freak out over little things like my mother calling you at work. G, honey, I know something's wrong. Would you please talk to me about it?"

Greg cringed because it sounded like Nick was begging, and he hated it when he begged for things like this. Begging for sex was entirely different, very sexy actually coming from Nick, but he wasn't begging for that. He almost wished he was, even though he was too tired to do much of anything right then.

"You think I like talking about my childhood?!" Greg heard his voice rising with anger, but did nothing to correct it. He was too tired. Too stressed out. "You think I want to tell the world about it?! It's hard for me to even think about! Never mind telling anyone! For God's sake Nick, you waited four years yourself to tell me about the babysitter!"

"They are two completely different things!" Nick yelled back. "Mine was a one time incident! Yours was most of your life!"

"Like hell that matters! What if she saw you regularly! Huh? What if your whole childhood was spent with her, trying to forget her, trying to cover up what she did to you?! What then?! How would you like it if people started to drill you about it?!"

Nick looked like he was about ready to blow a fuse, his face was flushed, his eyes angry, as if he were in an interrogation room with a suspect. "Don't even go there, Greg," he said, just barely containing the anger in his voice. "Don't even touch that subject."

"See? You don't like it either!" Greg finally took a deep breath to steady his own anger. "I told you I threw the pack away. I don't smoke."

"That's not what Warrick told me."

"Screw Warrick! What does he know?!" Greg was immediately sorry for saying it, but he couldn't take it back. It was already out in the air, hanging between them like a knife waiting to find its victim.

"I know you two don't get along well, but he's my friend, Greg! My best friend right after you! We work together, you, me, and him. How could you say that? He's good at his job..."

"Oh, so what?! You're having him tail me or something? Did you ask him to smell me for cigarette smoke?! Are you that paranoid? How does he know I wasn't just hanging out with the smokers outside, chatting it up without lighting up myself? Huh? How do you know? You couldn't ask me yourself? You don't trust me anymore?!"

Greg got up and stormed off to the bedroom and began stuffing the dirty laundry into the laundry bag. It was his turn to do the laundry this week anyway, and he needed something to do. Crossing the livingroom again Nick stood up, looking lost. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. Greg didn't say anything.

Finally words came out of Nick. "I'll... I'll cook dinner," he almost sounded defeated, as if he didn't know what else to say.

"Don't bother for me. I'm not hungry."

Greg stormed off to the laundry room and proceeded to dump the first load into the washing machine. When it was running, he grabbed a forensics journal from the bookshelf in the livingroom and sat down to read it. He ignored Nick's movements in the kitchen, and shoved all his private thoughts out of his head, instead, concentrating on the article in front of him about bullet striations, even though he already knew everything it was telling him.

Once all the laundry was done he brought it back to their bedroom and began to fold it and put it away in the dresser and the closet they shared. Nick was still in the kitchen, though he didn't know what he was doing. Putting away the last of Nick's shirts, he suddenly felt a twinge in his stomach. He clutched at it and leaned on the bed, grimacing at the pain. Once the initial sensation was gone a few minutes later he felt a little queasy, though he knew he wasn't going to throw up.

Without a second thought he grabbed his freshly washed pajamas and headed for the spare bedroom. Upon opening the door he found the air a little stale and musty, but he didn't care. He closed the door behind him and crawled into the empty bed after changing out of the jeans and t-shirt he'd been wearing.

This wasn't how he wanted things to end up between them. He held his stomach under the covers, willing the queasiness to go away. He was pissed at Nick for even suggesting, whether he meant to or not, that he didn't trust him, that he trusted Warrick more. Sure, he knew he shouldn't have said what he did about their friend, but still. Nick didn't have to carry it further. And now, he didn't know what to say. What more was there to say? He didn't like talking about his childhood. It had been crap, the whole way. Why would Nick be mad at him for that? And so he liked to take long drives to think. Was that a crime now? Of course he hadn't thrown the pack of cigarettes out. But it was still nearly full. He'd only had one or two since that night Nick had found him smoking. Right now, he would give anything for a cigarette to calm him down. Maybe he should have left the house, rather than hole himself up in the guest room. But what was done, was done.

He moved his left hand up so he could see the silver ring engraved with Nick's name on it. He turned it around on his finger and read 'I (heart) U" on the other side as his eyes filled up with tears and one fell down his cheek.

It was all in his head. Everything that had been going on was in his head. The fear of mixing work with pleasure, the need to smoke, the need for long car rides to think, everything. It was all in his head. He just didn't know how to get it out. If he could only stop the fear maybe it would all go away like some old nightmare from when he was a kid and he could go on living again, go on loving again. But he didn't know how to get it out of his head. He just wanted it out, but knew it wouldn't leave easily.

His tears flowed freely, as he pictured a broken relationship with Nick down the line. Nick was his life. He couldn't let it get away that easily. He lived for Nick. He felt like his soul purpose for being was to be with Nick, to love Nick. Nick was his world, and if that crumbled...

Outside the door, he heard the bathroom door creak open, but didn't hear it shut. Was Nick out there listening? Could he hear his sobs? The thought only made Greg cry harder.

It wasn't supposed to go like this...

* * *

At work that night they'd been called out to an explosion at a gas station on the edge of the city. Nick was walking back along the road with his flashlight, looking over the tire tracks, and logging the tire shreds along the way. Grissom was inside the station and the other three, Warrick, Catherine, and Greg were processing the cars.

"Man, I'm surprised this wasn't called in earlier," Catherine said, peering into the burned out limo. "This was big bucks that got lost here."

"Well, maybe whoever was in it got burnt to a crisp, so they couldn't call it in."

"Sure. Makes sense. Though I don't see the remains of a body back here. Driver's dead though. Probably on impact."

"It's hard to tell," Greg spoke up. "I can't determine these plates at all. All of them are completely gone. Guess we'll never know who these cars belonged to."

"Dental records will help with that, I suppose. Provided the correct owners are in the correct cars."

"Don't bet your life on it."

"Maybe there was no passenger in the limo."

"Right, and maybe it was a kidnaping gone wrong."

Greg stopped moving the moment a twinge caught at his stomach. The queasiness from earlier had never fully gone away and nothing he'd taken had helped. Apparently, the twinge was back again.

"You ok, Greg? You don't look so hot," Catherine commented.

"I'm fine," he assured her, as Warrick followed her gaze to the younger CSI. "I'm fine."

He ignored the twinge and carried on about his processing.

"Yeah, well, don't yak all over the evidence, please."

"I'm not that stupid, Cath. I know what I'm doing and I don't have to yak."

"You sure?"

"Hey, I may be feeling a little ill, but I DON'T have to yak!"

"You should go get Nick to take care of you."

Greg felt his face drain of color at the mention of Nick's name, though Catherine had already gone back to processing the limo for evidence.

"You still smoking?" Warrick asked. "Cause you're looking really pale."

"Smoker pale?" Catherine looked up at him again. "Yup. Smoker pale. God, Greg, don't you know that stuff'll kill you?"

"Yeah, come on, man. Nick's worried about you."

Now, Greg felt as if he really would throw up.

"Would you both just keep your noses out of my business! Leave me alone! Please!"

Greg spun on his heels and began processing the car behind him, effectively ending the conversation.

But Catherine didn't see it that way. "Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed tonight. We're just worried about you, Greg, that's all."

"Yeah, well, I don't need you worrying on top of Nick."

His barriers were breaking, just like he knew they would and he was doing everything in his power to keep himself under control. If only just barely. Another twinge hit him again and he found himself hiding behind the car, clutching his stomach, almost doubled over in pain.

* * *

A/N: Apparently, Greg's got a lot more issues than I originally figured. I, myself, am blown away by the magnitude of what's happening here. Will these two once lovers be able to forgive each other and return to a happy marriage? And will Geoff Baker finally be caught? The answers lie within the future chapters I have yet to write. So, keep reading, and you'll find out!


	10. Chapter 10

CSI: Ghost: Chapter 10

The High Tails Club came into view along the strip. Geoff maneuvered his Viper among the cars clogging the street and slid into a parking space before the car ahead of him could back into it. He heard cursing coming from the large SUV when he got out of the car, but he paid it no mind. It didn't pay to flip off angry people.

He'd known someone who'd flipped off an angry driver once and had ended up getting shot to death. Unfortunately for the dead driver, his killer got away with it. He remembered it like it was yesterday. The hit he'd been sent on had gone wrong. He'd missed the target, and he was pissed. His first gig with his new boss, and he wanted The Devil to think highly of him, to know he could do anything his boss threw at him. He'd been angry when driving, probably cut the guy off, when he flipped him the bird. He liked to think it was wise advice to never drive with a weapon on you because anger could easily cloud the brain. But he was an assassin and he had to be carrying wherever he went. It was part of the job description.

He made sure his two AK-47s were well hidden underneath his long trench coat, and his revolver was tucked into it's holster at his side, also underneath the trench. He got out of the car, locked it, and walked around to the back of the pricy club known as The High Tails.

According to his source, Slick was supposed to be inside the club, in his usual back room collaborating a deal with someone. Who that someone was, and what that deal was, he didn't know, nor did he care to. Normally he wouldn't make a hit in such a public place because innocent people could get killed, but this Slick character was a hard one to catch. He didn't leave his estate often enough, and it was always easier to kill someone outside their own home, where they didn't know the terrain so well. Geoff was tired of waiting for him to leave. It was now or never.

He slipped easily through the back door once he'd picked the lock and stowed the tools in his pocket. Inside, it was dark. He was in a narrow hallway, but at the end he could see a small amount of light, something coming from behind the bar. As he walked closer to the main room he saw that it was lit with a soft blue light that was somehow sexy for such a pricy club.

His source had given him the layout of the place, so he was sure this would be an easy in, easy out job. He would only be spending a few precious seconds in the main room, and he prayed no one would notice him. Though with the low lighting and his dark attire, he was sure it wouldn't happen. Except one person.

For such a pricy club it didn't hire girls that were the right caliber. Sure Jolie was pretty in her own right, and sweet, but she wasn't what he'd call beautiful, especially not while she was twirling around a pole in her underwear. She saw him come in and gave him a wink. He smiled a quick smile and winked back, before he was gone and down another passage to a set of stairs.

Jolie had been working in The High Tails late one night when Slick Willson had come in to do a deal upstairs. When the deal was done he'd asked for a girl to entertain him and some drinks. Heavy drinks. According to Jolie, in his drunken state he'd coped a feel and wanted more, almost forced her, until the bouncer stepped in. .

As she was his inside source for most of the clubs on the strip, he was doing her a favor, as well as doing his job, by getting rid of the guy. She'd promised him a really good lap dance once the deed was done. It was her way of thanking him, the same as his taking her out to dinner on occasion was his way of thanking her for her inside knowledge of most of the clubs in Vegas.

He laughed silently to himself. She was an air head. Absolutely nothing between the brains sometimes. She knew he was going to kill Slick, but she thought he was doing it all for her. She didn't know it was his job to kill the man, that he'd be doing it anyway, whether she wanted him to or not. Whatever made her think that a simple lap dance would be enough of a payment for killing someone was beyond him. She also never seemed to pick up on the news either. She'd never seemed to realize that every time he'd asked her about a club, someone was killed or kidnapped there not long after. This was what made her the perfect inside source. And it was the only thing.

He walked up the stairs at a measured pace. This was going to be messy. And he hated messy. At the top of the stairs he met a waiter dressed in a neatly pressed suit. He asked if the other meeting rooms were empty and was assured they were. He pulled out his revolver before the waiter could raise an alarm and pulled the trigger.

Knowing Slick and his men would have heard it he wasted no time bringing out his big guns and charging into the private room. Slick was ducking under a table and his bodyguards were pulling out their own weapons but they were no match for his quick trigger fingers. In a matter of seconds everyone was dead. He moved between the dead bodies checking their faces. None of them were Slick Willson.

He struggled not to curse as he checked under the blown away furniture. Not there. Slick certainly appeared to be just that. He was gone again. The fact that he'd escaped without being noticed was beginning to piss him off. The fact that it wasn't his first escape from death, pissed him off even more.

Not wanting to stick around, he hurried down the stairs to find the rest of the club in a state of chaos from the sound of his weapons. Jolie couldn't be seen. Without fanfare or further ado, he slipped back down the hall and out the back door. His car was unlocked and he was inside within seconds, pealing out of the space, and making a wide turn down a side street as fast as possible.

Geoff imagined his face was bright red. This was only the third time he'd missed his target since working for The Devil but it couldn't go on like this or he'd loose his job. Not only that, but more missed targets meant more crime scenes to be processed, which in turn meant more of a chance to link the crimes to The Devil. Already, his informant at the Crime Lab had told him the lead on the case, Nick Stokes, was linking everything up with Biggs, and had even pulled out the past hits he'd done for Tony. Of course, his informant had also assured him that the evidence was hiding the killer extremely well, just not the killer's boss.

Sure Tony Biggs was a crime boss, but he wasn't always smart. Everyone he'd had Geoff Baker kill, with th exception of a select few, were easily traced to the boss, such as his lawyer. Of course that one would have been figured out whether he did his best to hide the evidence of his having been there to do the dirty deed or not. But he also knew that Biggs was looking to be number one in Las Vegas. Otherwise, why kill Slick? He was already second to the top, all he had to do was remove Slick, and the top spot was all his. And he knew that his boss wouldn't hesitate to rat him out to the cops to keep his own ass safe and out of jail.

He hadn't realized that he was home already. With a heavy sigh he got out of the Viper to unlock the door that lead to his private corner of the parking garage. He paid a pretty penny to keep his car safe. And he would keep doing so, for as long as necessary. Making sure his weapons were in place under his coat so he could clean them, he stepped out of the car again after parking it and looked himself over. In the dim light he could just barely see the blood spatter across his black trench coat. He would clean it off when he cleaned the guns. But he doubted anyone would see it unless they knew what they were looking for and got up close and personal with him. He closed the door that hid his sweet ride, and made sure it was locked tight.

Walking to the front door of his apartment building next door to the garage, he saw Mrs. Aquilina just leaving with her daughter, Grace. Now here was a woman who could have worked at The High Tails and brought in some dough for sure.

"Ah, Mrs. Aquilina, how are you?" he asked in a pleasant tone, doing his best to cover up his anger.

"Oh! Geoff, I didn't see you there in the dark. I'm doing just fine. Grace is taking me out to a show tonight!"

"That's swell. Just swell. I hope you both have a grand time. Grace." he acknowledged the daughter with a wink.

"Hi Geoff," she said, in that way that always made him suspect she had a thing for him. "Thanks for looking out for my mother when I'm not here. It's a great help, you know."

"Oh, sure not a problem."

He left them and went into the building. If Grace wasn't the type to work at The High Tails, and do her job well, there was a chance he might have gone for her. But just a chance. With his job he couldn't get into anything permanent, which left him with one night stands. They were never fun the next morning, and he always had to be careful he didn't know the girl because he didn't need them coming back.

He sighed. He hadn't had a one night stand in a long time. But flying solo almost felt better. He didn't like killing innocent people any more than he liked breaking their hearts.

* * *

It was Greg's turn to cook dinner again and even though he wasn't hungry and his stomach still didn't feel good with the occasional twinge of pain, he found himself in the kitchen. He went through the cupboards, freezer, refrigerator, and the pantry, but didn't know what he should cook. His stomach wasn't helping at all. With no appetite, he didn't want to be around food at all. He was just glad Nick was still clueless as to how he felt physically. The last thing he needed was Nick worrying about that too.

"What do you want for dinner?" he called out into the livingroom where Nick was watching something on the Discovery Channel.

"Whatever you feel like, honey."

"Do you mind leftovers? Cause we've got a lot to eat up before it goes bad."

"No problem."

"Then I'll let you pick out what you want."

Feeling relieved, Greg went straight to the guest room to relax.

"Hey, you're not gonna join me?" Nick asked as he went by.

"Sorry, I'm just not hungry."

"You didn't have dinner last night either." Nick's voice was quiet, concerned, almost a whisper.

"I know." Greg took too more steps before he stopped. "I'll do the cleaning tomorrow after work, just so you know. I know it's my turn and all." His heart wasn't in anything he was saying, and he sounded tired, despondent, even to himself.

"Hey, don't worry about it, G. This place is fine."

Greg was surprised Nick was acting cool and calm after their last conversation. Of course they were both still walking on egg shells around each other, but when they did talk, the stupid argument wasn't brought up and nothing exploded. For that, Greg was grateful.

Not knowing what else to say, Greg left for the guest room and curled up in bed, doing his best to calm his queasy stomach.

* * *

Geoff Baker sped down the road, headed for the desert, wanting to get as far away from Sin City as possible. When he was satisfied at the distance he'd put between himself and the city limits he swerved off the road and came to an abrupt halt. He slammed his forehead into the steering wheel. He'd screwed up again. Again! His boss would fire him, for sure.

He sighed and leaned back against the headrest. The informant who'd told him where Slick was going to be had sold him out. Sure Slick Willson was going to be at Club Moonlight. Rumor had it he was looking for some girls to populate his estate. Geoff didn't want to know what for. And sure, Slick had been there. He'd watched the crime boss get out of his limo and head straight to the front of the line that ran around the corner for two whole blocks.

But when he'd run in through the back entrance with the smoke bombs, and shot up the room Slick was supposed to be in, the man he found when the smoke cleared, was not Slick Willson. And damn, he was pissed. The idiot knew he was coming. He'd dressed one of his own men as himself, letting him take the fall instead.

It was rare that he'd ever had to use smoke bombs before, but every time he had they'd come through for him. His best weapons were his guns. He used them the most. They were, in fact, the only weapons that were constantly on him. Anything else he used he borrowed, or rented, or were single use items he had to special order, like the smoke bombs. But he knew where to get everything. He knew how to expertly stage a hit. Until recently.

If he hadn't been a hit man, an assassin, he might have cried like a little boy with a skinned knee. But he was older, and wiser. Crying never solved anything. He just had to go back to the drawing board and come up with an even better way to kill the man. A way that didn't involve informants.

At least he knew from his other informant at the lab that his scenes weren't bringing them too much evidence. He smiled at that thought. At least his evidence skills were still sharp.

* * *

Nick was irritated over the case. Crime scenes were piling up and almost no evidence could be found. Smoke bombs. Obviously the killer wore something to cover his face so he wasn't affected. The guy was in and out quick. No one saw anything. And as for the men who were killed, they were the same as those who'd been gunned down in The High Tails. Faceless and nameless. All of them had had their faces shot off. Unrecognizable. And no identification on them. It was going to take some DNA to hopefully figure out who they were.

Nick sighed, flipping the scrambled eggs over in the frying pan just as the toaster oven dinged. Alas, DNA was backed up, so it would be awhile before they found anything out.

"G! Breakfast's ready!" he called.

Greg stumbled into the room already dressed for bed after the long shift they'd had at work. He slid into his chair just as Nick slid his plate onto the table before sitting across from him. While Greg had certainly become distant at home lately, he was glad it hadn't seeped into work, and he was also glad Greg was joining him for breakfast. It seemed like a long time since they'd eaten together.

The argument they'd had was gnawing away at him a little and he felt bad for the things he'd said to Greg. In hindsight, he really hadn't meant them. He didn't like talking about what had happened to him as a kid, and it had taken him years to finally tell Greg. He didn't know what made him think Greg would have been more forthcoming about his own childhood. He should have kept his mouth shut, is what he should have done. But the words were out, and he couldn't take them back.

Scooping his own eggs up into his mouth, he watched Greg taking slow, measured bites and chewing slowly before swallowing. Maybe the argument was eating him up too. Normally he loved the way Nick made scrambled eggs and he never wasted time in gulping them down. In all their five years of marriage this had never happened before. Sure they'd argued about things, but they'd always made up not too long after. Greg said he didn't like not speaking to someone he was living with, especially if he really loved said person.

Nick was a little desperate to break the ice. He didn't want to talk only about work, or the cooking or the laundry, or dishes. None of that. He wanted the old Greg back. The

happy-go-lucky guy who'd pounce on him while he was watching tv and make out with him for hours. He wanted to feel like he had a real life again. But what could he say?

"I hope you didn't have to deal with Hodges last night, man. He was just... he was getting on my nerves, asking all these probing questions about how the case was going. Damn, it was annoying. I mean, he can't just do his job and run samples like I ask him too. He's got to know every little thing that's happening. I know, you did that too, when you were in DNA. I guess... maybe it's just this case, you know?"

Nick looked up when he realized Greg wasn't responding, and he didn't hear the clink of silverware on the plate. Greg's eyes were glued to the table and both hands were clutching his stomach.

"Honey? G? You ok? What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry..." Greg spoke in a whisper, as a pained expression came over his face. "I thought maybe I could eat something..." He kept his breathing as slow and steady as possible. "But I guess not."

"What's wrong?" he asked again.

"My stomach just doesn't feel good."

"You want me to call the doctor? What do you need?"

"No doctor. I'll be fine. I'll just... go lie down."

Nick got up and was at Greg's side instantly, pulling his chair out from the table.

"You sure you're not gonna throw up or anything?" he asked as he helped Greg to his feet.

"No, I'll be fine."

Greg almost felt weak in his arms as he rested a head on Nick's shoulder and held onto his waist with one hand while still clutching at his stomach with the other. He wondered how long Greg hadn't been feeling well and hadn't told him about it. It had to be the case, Nick surmised. Before the case Greg had been fine. The case was stressing everyone out.

He steered Greg towards the guest room which he'd been using for the past couple of nights. He wanted to take Greg to their room, but he didn't want to reagravate the argument they'd had. If he could get back on his husband's good side sooner rather than later, he'd do anything. He helped him into bed, and pulled the covers up over him as he curled up into a ball, hugging himself, staring off into space.

"I'll be right back," Nick said, taking a leap of faith and disappearing back into the kitchen.

He set the teapot on to boil and quickly finished his breakfast while the water started to boil. When the tea was ready he returned to Greg. He wanted to believe what was wrong was all from the case, but he knew it was more than that. He just didn't understand why Greg wouldn't talk about it, whatever it was. It broke his heart. All he could do was take care of him and love him.

"I made you some tea, honey. It might help you feel better."

Nick sat on the edge of the bed and helped Greg sit up before handing him the steaming mug, made just the way he knew Greg liked it. He watched as Greg took a small sip and swallowed. Another pained expression covered his face for a second and then he relaxed a little and took another sip.

"Thanks," Greg said in a near whisper.

"If you need me, let me know."

Nick got up and left the room to wash the dishes before heading to bed himself.

* * *

A/N: One of my college professors told us this true story about one of his friends who got cut off while driving by some angry guy. He flipped the guy off and the guy pulled out a gun and shot him. Now his friend will be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. So, a warning to you all. Don't do that. Anyway, that's where the story from the beginning came from. I only changed the details here to make it more interesting for this story.

One other quick note: I will be finishing "Ghost" by the end of February if everything goes right, and then I'll be taking a one or two month break from fanfic to work on my original fiction with National Novel Editing Month and possibly Script Frenzy. Once those are over my fanfiction plans are to tag team "Braden Sanders-Stokes" with another collection of one shots entitled "Texas Chronicals." And after those, I'll be writing "Strength of Soul" (for those who know about it, that's the merman story). For summaries on these pieces, check out my profile.

And that's it. Hope you enjoyed chapter ten, and I'll do my best to get eleven out as soon as possible! Ok, long author's note over. Go review.


	11. Chapter 11

CSI: Ghost: Chapter 11

Parked behind a row of tall bushes where no one could see the boring grey rental car, Geoff watched Slick Willson's estate, and the guards at the gate. The only things with him were his revolver and his cell phone. Not that he was expecting anyone to call, but one never knew, and it always helped his credibility if he was there to answer it on occasion. He'd been there for five hours and was getting hungry. For sure the guards would be making a switch soon. Because surely Slick didn't want tired guards on duty. Or hungry ones, for that matter.

The estate was literally on many acres of property on the edge of the city. At the front, was a large wrought iron gate that was controlled by a button in the guard's shack. It would roll to the side, letting cars pass through and drive up the steep driveway to the large house that was out of sight from where Geoff Baker was currently parked. In the distance he could see the sprinkler system hard at work, keeping his lawn a beautiful bright green even though it was illegal in Las Vegas because of the lack of water.

Walking down the long driveway, a guard clad in black, carrying a gun at his hip, picked up a radio from his shoulder, similar to what a police officer would have, and spoke into it. A door opened in the small guard shack near the fence and the guard slipped inside. He was only there a few minutes before he left. Parked on the other side was a single black SUV. He got in and left the estate when the rolling gate was opened to let him through.

Geoff smiled to himself as he started his engine and waited patiently for a few minutes until the SUV was out of sight. He pulled out of his hiding spot and followed at a good distance. He would have much preferred his Dodge Viper, as it handled better than this old Honda jalopy, and screamed comfort to him, as he'd been driving it for years, but this car hadn't been used before in his attempts to kill Slick so he wouldn't be noticed as easily.

The SUV headed into the city, but didn't go very far when it stopped in a parking lot, at the edge, far from other cars and street lights. Geoff parked on the street nearby, but also in the dark. The guard was after coffee for himself and his coworkers, he realized as he entered a coffee shop. Geoff waited a good fifteen minutes before he got out of his car. He walked toward the SUV, slowly, looking around him as if he were lost. The guard came out of the shop, carrying a tray of paper coffee cups. He stopped when he saw Geoff.

"Can I help you with something?" the guard's voice seemed nice enough.

"I'm... oh gosh, this is really embarrassing, actually. I'm supposed to meet my girlfriend at the Tangiers and I... well..." Geoff stumbled over his words, like a truly embarrassed and lost tourist.

"You got lost?" There was a look of mirth in the guard's eyes.

"Um... yeah. I'm lost. Do you think you could help me out?"

"Sure thing, just give me a moment to put these in my car."

"Sure, sure. And thanks a lot man, I owe you one."

"Oh, not a problem."

The guard put the coffee tray in the SUV and brought out a map of the city from the glove compartment. As he was half in the car and half out, Geoff took a quick look around to make sure no one else was around. When the guard came back out, he grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, covering his mouth before he yelled for help, and dragged him into the darkness, near a tree, so he was hidden from passersby. At this late hour, however, no one else was at the shop.

"You keep quiet," Geoff said, disarming the guard. "I don't want to hear one peep out of you, you got me? You squeak, and you're a dead man. Got that?"

The guard nodded and Geoff let him go.

"What's going on? What do you want?" Oddly enough for a guard, he seemed a little scared.

Geoff took the map from his shaking hands and grabbed a pen from his own jacket. He flipped the map over to the blank side and laid it out on the dirt in front of the man and handed him the pen.

"I need you to draw me the layout of Slick's estate." The guard gaped at him. "Draw me the layout of the house, the grounds, and tell me where the guards are stationed. Do it. Now." He aimed the guard's gun at him, and cocked it. "I don't take no for an answer. You don't want to know how many men like you I've killed before."

"Ok, ok.."

The guard got to work, drawing quickly. Geoff watched him work as he kept an eye out for intruders to their little party.

"What's that?" he pointed toward a square with a "GH" written in it.

"Guard House," the man said quickly.

Geoff noted the guard posts all over the estate, and the layout of the three floor mansion in the middle.

"Here. That's it," the guard thrust the map and the pen back to Geoff. "Can I please go now?"

"Who on earth do you think I am? You really think I'm just gonna let you go back there and tell the world what you just did for me? I don't think so."

"I promise I won't tell anyone. Please! I promise!"

"Like I could trust you. By the way, thanks for outfitting this weapon with a silencer."

Geoff Baker aimed the gun at the guard's head and pulled the trigger, killing him instantly and quietly.

"Hmmm... too bad I never did catch your name. Oh well."

Geoff put the gun back into the guard's hand, glad he always wore leather gloves while on the job so his fingerprints wouldn't show up. He then grabbed the map and the pen and went back to his rental. When he got back inside he found his cell phone ringing.

"Yes?" he answered.

"What do you think you're doing?" Tony Bigg's voice came over the line in a deep voice, elongating his words. He was pissed. He never had anything good to say when he spoke like this. With his one question he had Geoff on edge as the assassin pulled out onto the road and left the dead guard behind.

"I'm doing my best, but Slick, is just as his name implies. Don't worry, boss, I've got a plan in motion that even he won't be able to get out of. He'll be dead within the week. I promise."

"He'd better be. I'm getting a lot of attention from the cops. I don't like this, I want it all over with. Now."

"My informant at the lab promises me he's taking care of things, that they haven't figured anything out yet."

"Well, you tell him he'd better keep doing a good job because for sure his life won't be worth much if he's not living. Understood?"

* * *

"Well guys, I hate to be the one to break up the party but it's time for me to head back to LA."

Nick looked up from the evidence on the table in front of him to see Detective Omar following Brass into the room.

"You're leaving us, so soon?" Nick realized he sounded a little sad when he hadn't meant to at all. The case and everything going on with Greg were really draining him.

"Well, with Winters dead, there's not much more I can do here. This case has taken on a life of it's own, and it's more yours than mine. No one else has ties to LA, except for him."

"Right, right. Well, hey, good luck on the job, and maybe I'll see you again some time."

The LA detective smiled. "Thanks, and hopefully it'll be under better terms. Say, where's Greg? I haven't seen him in a while. I thought you two were working the case together."

"The whole team is now, but he hasn't been feeling well so he's been staying in the lab most of the time going over the old evidence."

"Alright, well, say hi for me and tell him I hope he feels better."

"Sure thing."

"And Brass, you let me know how the case goes."

"You got it."

Once the cop was gone Brass turned to Nick. "I thought this was going in one direction, but now I'm thinking it's going somewhere else."

"You got something new for me?" Nick asked.

"Yeah, actually I do. I thought I knew one of the recently dead guys... you know, from those club shoot outs."

"Oh, yeah?"

Brass nodded. "Turns out I was right. Lance Danes works for Slick Willson."

Nick's eyes widened. "Slick... Willson? The top crime boss in Vegas?"

"You got it. So does all the other dead guys that have been piling up recently."

"Shit. So, what does that mean?"

"It feels like this is a gang turf war, but no one's been killed on The Devil's side."

"At least not yet," Nick surmised. "But that doesn't give reason to the other killings."

"I wonder what The Devil's got up his sleeve?" another voice popped up in the doorway.

Both men turned to see David Hodges standing there for a brief moment before he walked further into the room.

"It looks to me like Tony Biggs has plans to take over the city. All he has to do is take Slick out, and it's his. You know that."

The cop and the CSI stared at the trace tech.

"Well, at least, that's the way it seems to me. So, tell me what you've got. I can maybe help you out."

Nick shook his head to clear it. "Hodges, you're not on this case unless I bring you samples. And I have no samples for you. So, why are you here?"

"I want to help, is all. You know, Grissom lets me help sometimes, and I do good work. I've broken a few cases before. So, who are we looking at for suspects? How many bullet casings have we found at the scenes?"

"Hodges, you really don't know what you're talking about," Brass broke in.

"I know you found tire treads at the first scene with Winters. What kind of car did they belong to?"

"Undetermined," Nick answered with a sigh. He brightened up when he saw Wendy walking down the hall. He called her in. "Wendy, would you please escort Hodges back to his lab?" he nearly begged her.

"Sure thing," she said with an almost evil grin as she grabbed hold of the trace tech's arm and dragged him out of the room. "By the way, I saw Greg not too long ago and he didn't look too hot," she informed Nick.

"I know. He hasn't been feeling well. I told him to stay home, but he hates taking sick days."

* * *

Greg lay in bed, still in the guest room, on his side and curled up into a ball. He wasn't experiencing any twinges of pain at the moment but his stomach had been constantly queasy and still was. Now, when he got home the first thing he did was grab a quick shower so he could get into bed sooner. He was hoping every time that he could sleep it off and wake up feeling better. It hadn't worked yet.

The sound of his cell phone ringing on the nightstand jarred him out of his thoughts.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end was deep and scared Greg to his core as it spoke. "We know who you are," the person said. "One slip up and your precious hubby is dead."

The line went dead.

Greg slowly removed the phone from his ear and snapped it shut, putting it back on the nightstand. Who? He couldn't even finish his thoughts properly. Why? What had he done?

He jumped a mile out of bed when the house phone rang. He stilled himself, and listened intently as Nick walked down the hall to answer the phone. Was it the same person? Were they going to warn Nick? What were they going to say? Greg didn't even know what he'd done to get such a warning. He didn't want this to tear them apart more than they already were.

"Sanders-Stokes Residence," he heard Nick answer. "Oh, hi Mom." Greg let out a huge breath of air in relief. "Yeah, we're doing ok. How's everyone out at the ranch?"

Greg calmed himself down by listening to Nick's voice. He loved that voice. Nick had always been able to work wonders on him just by talking to him. He remembered his first time dumpster diving. He'd been on a case with Nick, and being in the large dumpster had unnerved him because he couldn't see over the edge. He felt like he was alone, so he'd asked Nick to talk to him while he processed the rest of the scene. Just hearing Nick's voice going over evidence had calmed him right down and mellowed him out.

"Jenny had the baby? That's great! Tell her she needs to send us some pictures."

But tonight, while he had managed to calm down a little, his stomach wouldn't let him forget anything going on in their lives.

"Oh, yeah, about that...I'm really sorry Mom, but I don't think we'll be able to make it... I know, I know... I know Mom. But it looks like this case is gonna blow right through Christmas. It's turning into our biggest case yet and the bodies aren't done piling up."

Greg heard what Nick was saying out loud to his mother, but he also heard what his tone of voice was saying, the part his mother wouldn't get. Nick knew it was more than just the case that was going to keep them from going to Texas this year. His heart broke, thinking about how much Nick sacrificed for him sometimes. He wished it didn't have to be so. When Nick got off the phone he'd go tell him that they'd make it down there. And he'd talk to Grissom about it tomorrow.

The house was suddenly silent and Greg began to panic because he hadn't heard Nick hang up. Footsteps came down the hall and he was reminded that his gun was back in his locker at work. He lay frozen in bed, kicking himself for acting this way. He'd grown up a lot since the beating, he knew how to handle himself. The phone call was what had him on edge. He didn't know who it had been or why they'd called. He felt like he had no control over the situation, whatever it was.

His door was bumped open and he felt relief wash over him again when he saw Nick in the doorway with a tray in his hands.

"Hey, G. I made you some chicken noodle soup and some tea."

"Oh, Nicky, you shouldn't have."

"I want you to feel better."

Greg sighed. "I know, me too. But I'm really not hungry. I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Nick set the tray on the nightstand before he kicked his shoes off and joined Greg under the covers, wrapping his arms around him, holding him close. Feeling Nick right behind him, he realized just how much he missed Nick and hated sleeping alone. His husband wasn't saying anything just doing the simple act of holding him. It made him hate himself that much more.

He knew he was hurting Nick just as much as he was hurting himself by staying away from him and not resolving the argument. He wasn't even supposed to be married to the wonderful man he loved so much, never mind having his job as CSI. He knew he'd become the ghost of his former self lately, and he knew he had to change that. He wasn't supposed to be in this beautiful relationship, so to let it go was just wrong. He had to turn things around. And the sooner the better.

He turned over in Nick's arms to face his husband. "I'm sorry, Nicky. For all this. I never meant for it to happen and to get so out of control."

"It's ok, baby. I just want to understand what's going on, that's all. And I'm sorry too. I should never have said what I did. I know it took me a long time to tell you what happened when I was a kid. I don't know what made me think it would take you less time, or that you even had to tell me to begin with."

"Don't worry about it. I'm gonna talk to Grissom tonight and get our Christmas time off scheduled so we can have something to tell Mom."

"Don't bother. I don't want to go to Texas anymore."

"What do you mean?" Greg was shocked. Every year Nick was always exited to go to Texas, to give Greg the family time he'd missed growing up. But it was more than that too. He'd always loved going because he missed seeing his family the rest of the year.

"G, I've spent more Christmases with my family than I have with you. This year, I want it to be just you and me for once. We don't get enough alone time together. I want to take the day and relax with you and do whatever you want to do."

"Nicky, it's not my birthday and you miss your family," Greg reasoned, even when he saw the love shining in his favorite brown eyes.

"I can handle one year apart from them. It's you I can't stand to be apart from. And I already talked to Griss. We have the day off, unless a huge massacre occurs. That was the agreement."

Greg was speechless. Nick was more selfless than he'd ever believed and it touched his heart.

"Thank you, Nicky. I'd be glad to spend the day with you."

Nick smiled into a deep kiss that Greg accepted readily, as he realized his stomach had stopped feeling queasy.

"_We know who you are. One slip up and your precious hubby is dead," _the words came back to him in a flash.

He froze, mid-kiss, as a twinge filled his stomach and shudders ran through his body. Nick pulled away and looked at him, concern filling his eyes, as his hand rested on Greg's side where most of the shudders had occurred.

"G?"

Greg swallowed hard and let the pain pass through him before he spoke.

"I'm ok."

"I felt that. Are you sure? I'm really getting worried about you."

"No, I'm fine, really."

Greg relaxed again, accepting that the queasy feeling just wasn't going to go away as it came back after the pain was gone.

"_We know who you are. One slip up and your precious hubby is dead."_

"Can you humor me, Nicky?"

"What do you want?"

"Can you promise me next time there's a crime scene you won't go anywhere without a cop. In fact, make it any crime scene after this. Please?"

Nick laughed a little. "G, I was a cop once, remember?"

"I know. But still. Please?"

"What's this all about? You don't think I'm safe out there? You've got the same job."

"Just a feeling," Greg lied, kicking himself for not wanting to tell Nick the truth.

He leaned in and gave Nick a quick kiss. "I love you so much and we're working such a high profile case that's getting out of control and Griss put you in charge of it. Could you just please humor me and promise to make sure you're safe?"

"Sure, baby. I'll do whatever you want. Just cause I love you so much too."

Greg burrowed his head into Nick's chest and enjoyed the feel of his husband's arms tightening around him, knowing that right then, Nick was safe. They were both safe, and they were together, the one thing he'd always wanted in the whole world. Nick gave a kiss to the top of his head and he sighed contentedly.


	12. Chapter 12

CSI: Ghost: Chapter 12

A/N: Things will start to come together in this chapter. Some questions may be answered, or they might not be. Also note, this is not turning into a song fic by any means but the lyrics you will find are very important to the story, as you'll find out, so don't skip them! Also note there are spoilers for "Fannysmackin'" Hope you enjoy, and don't forget to review! Btw, this chapter was a lot of fun to write!

* * *

Nick stepped out of the SUV along side Greg. Just ahead of them stood Warrick and Catherine, surveying the crime scene in front of them. Nick nudged Greg slightly to get his attention as he pointed to the police officers surrounding the place and the crime scene tape.

"This place is crawling with cops, G."

"I know," Greg said in a low voice.

Warrick turned to face them and gave Nick an odd look. "Like that's anything new."

Neither of the two men responded.

"Where's the body?" Greg finally spoke up.

Brass approached the team. "Body's behind the tree. One gun shot to the head. Could possibly be his own gun. It's got a silencer which is why no one heard the shot, or found him until they realized his SUV had been here awhile. Also looks like he could work for Slick too."

"I guess Slick doesn't care about his employees too well," Catherine commented as she rounded the tree. Looks like he's been dead a little while."

* * *

Half an hour into processing the scene Greg stepped over to the civilian side of the tape to grab his bottle of water from the Denali. Taking a swig he leaned against the hood and watched the cops milling around as well as the other three criminalists doing their job. When his eyes came to rest on Nick kneeling in the dirt, he remembered the night before when Nick had crawled into bed with him and held him close. A small shiver ran up his spine and he could almost feel Nick's arms around him.

If there hadn't been crime scene tape up, if the place wasn't crawling with cops and their coworkers, if there was no dead body, he'd be wrapping his arms around his husband right at that very moment. He'd missed him so much, and the short period they'd been apart because of the stupid argument had been too long. Much too long. He sighed and took another swig of water. A small twinge of pain shot through his stomach, reminding him that he was on the job and thinking about Nick as anything other than his coworker was off limits until they got home. He growled low in his throat to himself. He hated that. Hated that they had to be professional. Maybe it would be a good idea to get another job after all. Maybe.

He turned his head away from the crime scene to force himself from thinking about Nick and saw the curious onlookers standing nearby. It was common knowledge that sometimes the perp came back to a crime they'd committed and watched the CSIs work the scene. Nick had even told him one of his own attackers, who called himself Pig, had done just that while he and Warrick were processing the scene a few years ago. Looking at the onlookers here, he wondered if any of them could have been the killer at this crime scene. They all looked normal, but then, didn't they all?

Somewhere inside his head he had a feeling he knew who'd done this horrific crime, but he didn't know how he knew or who it was that he suspected. He'd blocked so much out of his life that at times he'd been able to go to work most nights believing that he wasn't living with Nick, wasn't sleeping with the man, or even married to him. And he'd go home and believe his whole world revolved around Nick and had nothing to do with crime solving. Those were simple times, meant to get him through life's bumps. But now things were getting complicated. His work life and his personal life were becoming one, and pretty soon he would have to choose between one or the other. He couldn't do both together. They couldn't do both. They had to stay professional on the job. But he knew it was more than that. There was more to his life: The reason he wanted a simple one with a steady job, a loving husband, and nothing more. But he didn't know what that reason was.

A long time ago, before he'd arrived in Las Vegas he'd taken classes at Stanford because he'd loved chemistry so much, but he'd had to sneak them into his schedule. He wasn't allowed to go to college. But why? He couldn't remember. He remembered the gang he'd belonged to as a kid, the Wolf Pack, remembered all the foster homes he'd been sent to, remembered each face, every name. But something nagged at the back of his brain telling him he'd made it all up. But he hadn't. Had he? He remembered everything. How could Johnny Drake thrusting an AK-47 into his hands at the age of fourteen in a dark ally not be true? Johnny was only sixteen himself, tall, well muscled, tattoos all over his arms, a bandana covering his head, wearing a hooded sweatshirt with the hood hiding his face with it's piercing blue eyes and pointed goatee. He'd even had a cigarette hanging from his mouth that night as he held the gun out to Greg. How could it all be fake? It wasn't. It wasn't fake, that's how. And somehow, he'd made up the part about sneaking classes at Stanford because why would he have had to do that? His last set of foster parents had made sure he'd gotten in. His excellent grades in high school and his love of all things science, especially chemistry, had gotten him in.

"Break time's over Greg!" Warrick shouted. "Get your ass back over the line and help us out here!"

Greg came out of his thoughts and shoved himself away from the SUV which had been supporting him just as a twinge cut clear throughout his whole body. The water bottle fell from his hand and he hugged himself tight as he stumbled forward, unaware that sounds were coming out of his mouth. The next thing he knew his body was pitching forward and Warrick was breaking his fall, catching him.

"Sit down. Sit down. You alright?" Warrick asked, concern etched on his face as he lowered him to the pavement beside his spilled water.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be fine. Just give me a minute."

Nick was now kneeling in front of him beside Warrick, but he didn't want to look at Nick, afraid of what he'd see on his face. He looked to the side only to see Catherine at the tape watching them, concern on her face as well. Instead, he stared at the ground and took several deep breaths to calm his nerves. He saw Warrick's boots walk away and knew that he was alone with Nick as he saw Catherine move back to the scene from the corner of his eye. Nick's latex gloves snapped off his hands and he raised Greg's chin with a finger to face him. Worry lines looked as if someone had carved them deep and harsh into his face years ago and they'd never gone away. Greg winced, knowing just who'd created those lines and the actual time they'd arrived.

"I'm REALLY worried about you, Greg. And I'm not gonna take this lightly anymore. I can't."

"Nick, please," Greg tried. "I'm ok. Really."

"No you're not. Look, I'll take you home and in the morning we'll make an appointment with Dr. Rose."

"Nick, I'm fine! I don't need to go home!"

"Well, I can't have you working this scene in your current condition. If Grissom were here he'd tell you to go home."

"Yeah, well, he's not here." Greg finally relented a little. "If you really don't want me on the scene, I'll wait for you. But I'm not going home just because of one incident."

Nick sighed. "Fine. But if it happens again, would you PLEASE tell me?"

"Alright," Greg whispered. "Alright. I'll tell you."

"You promise?"

Greg stared at him.

"Hey, I promised to humor you last night with the cops. You can humor me and tell me when you don't feel good."

"Yeah, yeah, ok. I promise."

"Thank you."

Nick took Greg's arm in his, helped him to his feet, guided him around to the passenger side of the Denali and helped him inside.

"I doubt we'll be long. This scene's about done anyway. I'll see you soon, ok?"

Greg only nodded as Nick shut the door and went back to the scene, ducking under the tape and pulling a fresh pair of gloves from his pocket. Warrick looked up and asked him something Greg couldn't hear.

He leaned back in the seat for a few minutes and relaxed. That had been the last thing he needed. Sure he didn't feel too good these days, but to almost collapse at work was the worst. He was just glad it was Nick who was in charge of the scene instead of Grissom. Nick wouldn't report him to the boss and force him to take leave. Grissom would.

Greg leaned forward and pushed the keys further into the ignition and started the engine just enough to play the radio. When he hit the power button he heard the DJ speaking and wondered what station it was.

"And here's one that goes all the way back to 1978!" the DJ exclaimed. "The title is 'Manuela Run' and it's by the great band, Toto!"

Greg groaned, not in the mood for seventies music, but as he reached for the button to change the station he realized he was too late and the song had already started. The lyrics already had him listening hard:

_Don't look now, _

_you better watch that sword that's hanging over you_

_It's a long hard road and they will spit you out _

_when they get through with you_

_Don't hang your head, so the wise man said_

_Or boy you'll soon be dead_

_You better run, run Manuela-uela run,_

_They're gonna shoot you in the back with your own gun_

_You better run, run Manuela-uela run_

_Manuela run_

_There's no more time for living out your life_

_Your sky is falling down_

_Don't close your eyes or make a wish on three_

_Cause they will still be round_

_Don't hang your head, so the wise man said_

_Or boy you'll soon be dead_

_You better run, run Manuela-uela run,_

_they're gonna shoot you in the back with your own gun_

_They'll shoot you in the back with your own gun_

_You better run, run Manuela-uela run_

_Manuela run_

_Manuela run_

_Don't hang your head, so the wise man said_

_Or boy you'll soon be dead_

_You better run, run Manuela-uela run_

_you better run, run, Manuela-uela run_

_you better run, run Manuela-uela run_

_They're gonna shoot you in the back with your own gun_

_you better run, run Manuela-uela run_

_you better run, run Manuela run_

_You better run, run Manuela run_

_They're gonna shoot you in the back with your own gun_

_you better run, run Manuela run._

It had an upbeat tempo for such a decidedly morbid tune and the lyrics were actually quite catching. Greg shook his head trying to get the words out, but for some reason he had a feeling the song wasn't just the DJ's choice. But why did it seem like they were directed at him? Why did he have the feeling it was a sign, like it was trying to tell him something? Perhaps it was the phone call from the night before that had him so jumpy over little things like this.

For the rest of the time they were at the crime scene, no matter what station he changed the radio to, no matter what song he heard after 'Manuela Run', whether it was one of his favorite heavy metal bands, or one of Nick's favorite country singers, he couldn't get the words out of his head.

* * *

"You sure he's ok?" Warrick asked Nick as they packed the rest of the evidence into the back of the second Denali along with Catherine.

"No. I'll admit, with him, I'm not sure of anything anymore."

"What do you mean?"

Both Catherine and Warrick were now looking at him.

"It's a long story and I'd rather not go into the details. I trust you guys not to tell anyone else about this, ok?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Nicky."

"Thanks. I also need you to do me another favor."

"Anything."

"You mind taking this evidence back to the lab and start processing it without us? I'm gonna need you to cover for us, too, if you don't mind."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm sick of him avoiding the doctor, and I'm afraid if he leaves that vehicle he'll be a bitch to get into another to go to the hospital."

"You really think it's that serious?" Catherine asked.

"Yes." Nick sighed. "I just don't know what to do with him because he refuses to tell me what's going on, but I know this has been bothering him for awhile. He can't work if he's like this, but he hates taking time off. I don't know what else to do, and I'm afraid I'm gonna worry myself to death if I don't do something for him."

"Go man. We'll smooth it over with the boss. Don't worry."

"Seriously, I wouldn't worry about Gil, if I were you. That new case with all those bugs should keep him occupied. He'll never notice you're gone. Go take care of your man. And tell him we want him to get better too."

"Thanks guys, I owe you one."

Nick climbed into the other Denali where Greg sat waiting for him with a classical music station on the radio. Nick wasn't sure if that was good or bad. Greg hardly listened to the stuff, but when he had, it was never when he was in a certain single mood, so he wasn't sure.

"How're you feeling?" he asked to be sociable as he started up the engine and followed Warrick and Catherine out of the parking lot.

"Ok. Better than I was."

"Well, that's good."

Greg leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. "I'm really tired though."

"Well, you didn't get much sleep, so that figures."

Nick was glad Greg had closed his eyes. As they reached the light Warrick drove straight through but Nick made a right hand turn and Greg never noticed.

"So, did you find anything else interesting at the scene after I left?"

"No, not really. Whoever killed the guy was in and out of there quick. He was a pro, that's for sure, same as all the others."

"But the gun was different, right?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Could have been staged. When we get the bullet lodged in his brain out we'll know more."

Several minutes later Greg opened his eyes and surveyed their surroundings.

"Hey, I thought we were going back to the lab?"

"Sorry, G. We're not."

"What?" Greg turned in his seat and eyed Nick carefully, his eyes narrowing. "Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you to the ER," Nick admitted, hating the thought of lying to Greg and telling him they had another crime scene to process that night, when in fact they didn't. He steeled himself for his husband's response.

"Nick!"Greg shouted. "I can take care of myself! I'm feeling just fine. If you really don't want me to work, then just take me home. But don't take me to the ER."

"This is no longer just for you and your health," Nick said as he pulled into the hospital's parking lot and found an empty space. "This is for my own peace of mind." He shut the engine off and found himself resting a hand on Greg's leg as he met his angry eyes. "Please, do this for me. Then maybe I can stop worrying so much and maybe we can both get some sleep. Ok? Please?" Nick begged, not wanting to get into another argument.

He watched as the anger slowly left Greg's eyes and they became the same deep brown pools of sweetness he loved to drown himself in whenever possible.

"Alright. For you, I'll go."

"Thank you, G."

* * *

Nearly two hours later Nick was still sitting in the hard, uncomfortable, plastic chair he'd first sat in when they'd arrived at the Emergency Room. He was reading a boring magazine he'd forgotten the name of when Greg finally came down the hall, a happy smile on his face, followed by a doctor in a white lab coat. Nick stood up, glad to get some movement into his legs, and met them halfway across the room.

"Well, I can't say that there's really anything wrong with him," the doctor said.

Greg beamed. "See? I'm fine. I told you so."

"How can that be?" Nick asked, dumbfounded. Greg had been in pain after all.

"I'm not sure. But I did run some quick x-rays and everything looks ok. I also drew some blood and I'll run a few tests, see if anything pops up, but it'll take a week or two for the results. All in all, he seems perfectly healthy to me."

Nick was still surprised that nothing had come up. "Well, thanks anyway."

"No problem. Glad I could be of service."

They shook hands and he and Greg went back out to the waiting Denali.

"See? I'm perfectly fine," Greg said.

"So he says. Thanks for humoring me, G. I really appreciate it."

"It's not like you gave me much of a choice."

"I know."

Getting into the SUV Nick knew that sleep still might not come the next morning. Sure the doctor hadn't found anything wrong, but doctors had been known to be wrong sometimes. Greg was in obvious pain, so there had to be something wrong, right? Or maybe the doctor was right and he was worrying for nothing. Nick wasn't sure what to think anymore.

* * *

Geoff sat in one of the two black leather wing chairs across the desk from Tony Biggs, and sighed. His boss had brought him there to chew him out for nothing. He'd already had his ass chewed out over the phone. He definitely didn't need this.

So, instead of listening to Tony, he let his mind drift. He saw those same cops the boss was complaining about processing his latest scene. He heard one of the Crime Scene Investigators, Nicholas Stokes, comment to another, Gregory Sanders, that the scene was crawling with cops. Ha! Did he think that would help keep him safe? He would have changed his mind real quick if he'd known an assassin was standing right there as he talked to his coworkers. He wondered if Nick would ever catch on that the guy he was looking for had been there. Geoff laughed inwardly, knowing he probably never would. He was still sad that the other CSI who'd gotten sick and collapsed hadn't contaminated the scene by throwing up. It really was too bad, he really looked like he could have yakked everywhere.

"Hey! Are you listening to me?" The Devil yelled.

"Huh? Yeah, yeah, sure I got it," Geoff said offhandedly.

"What the hell's wrong with you today? Come on. I want you to off the guy because you're an assassin. You've never had problems with this sort of thing before. I don't expect you to have problems now," his boss lectured him as if he were his father.

He wished he could remember his father, wished he'd known him at all.

"Slick's not dead yet. How come he's not dead yet?"

"I told you, I'm working on it."

"Yeah, well, not fast enough. Slick is almost terrified to leave his estate. I heard all his men keep getting killed every time he leaves the place. That's not helping. Sure you're scaring the shit out of him, which I like, but you're not doing the job you were paid to do. And now, he's cancelled the deal we had going. He's thinking he wants nothing to do with me now and I can't convince him I have nothing to do with the attempts on his death. I want him gone. And I want him gone now.

"Look, Tony. It's like killing you. When you leave here you don't go without a brigade to keep you save. You take all these precautions just cause you're the second top crime boss in the whole city. So, killing him is like killing you, only much harder. But don't worry. He can't escape my guns forever," and with that last statement, Geoff got up to leave, giving Tony no room for arguments or more complaining about his work.

On his way home he stopped at the post office and checked his mailbox for bills and messages. Inside he found a small padded envelope waiting for him, something he wasn't expecting to find. He opened it right there in the lobby, out of curiosity, and was surprised when a cassette fell out into his hand. Opening the case and pulling the tape out he found it unlabeled. It was an old Sony recordable tape, so anything could have been recorded onto it. He hadn't seen a cassette in years and, thus, had no means to play such a thing. Confused, he left the post office and walked down the street, looking for the homeless that usually resided near there. Of course, when he wanted one, they couldn't be found.

Turning down another block he finally found Tim Frave, the Veteran whom he'd been friends with for years. Sometimes he'd stop and have a chat with Tim, bring him some coffee. Other times, if he was in a hurry, he'd drop him his usual hundred as he passed by.

"Ah! Geoff, so good to see you! How's life treatin' ya?" Tim asked as Geoff sat down on the curb beside him.

"Well, you know, could be better. But I'm still hangin'."

"Good. Good. Say, you bring me any coffee today?"

"No, sorry man. Wasn't thinking about it. And I've gotta get home soon anyway."

"Aw, rats. We haven't had a good conversation in awhile. And I know you've been wantin' to hear that story from the war."

"I'll make you a deal, Tim. Let me borrow your radio/cassette player for a hundred, and I'll be sure to look you up tomorrow with a coffee and time for that story. How's that sound?"

"Perfect, man. Just like music to my ears! But say, what do you need my radio for? Can't you afford your own?"

Geoff laughed a huge belly laugh. "I wish it were that simple. But I only need it once. I think. Someone sent me a cassette, and I need to know what's on it."

"Well, then, for a hundred... here you go!" Tim Frave pulled the battery controlled device from the top of his grocery cart heaped with the rest of his belongings.

Geoff opened the cassette door and slid the tape in.

"You sure I should be listening to this? What if it's confi-dential?" he asked, splitting the last word to make a point.

"Na, I wouldn't worry too much. Besides, if anyone's looking to kill me, I'd feel safer with you around, being a Vet and all."

"Glad to hear it, glad to hear it. So, what have we got? Let's see what the message will bring us!"

Geoff had to laugh again. Tim was excited over this little cassette as if it were bringing them a secret message, perhaps about a mission that needed carrying out. Geoff had gathered over the years that, that had been what Tim had done during the war. Though, what kind of missions he'd run, he didn't know because Tim was elusive with the information. He vowed that he was still under oath by the government until the day he died. When he went to heaven, then he'd spill his guts.

He pushed play and they waited together, hunched over the little machine with baited breath until the first chords of a song hit the air. They looked at each other with confusion.

"That's not a top secret mission message," Tim declared.

But then the lyrics hit, and Geoff felt himself reeling from them:

_Don't look now, _

_you better watch that sword that's hanging over you_

_It's a long hard road and they will spit you out _

_when they get through with you_

_Don't hang your head, so the wise man said_

_Or boy you'll soon be dead_

_You better run, run Manuela-uela run,_

_They're gonna shoot you in the back with your own gun_

_You better run, run Manuela-uela run_

_Manuela run_

When the song was over, Geoff was staring off into space. He knew he'd heard the song before, but he couldn't remember where or when. It was an unusual song, so upbeat for something so morbid. A song he wouldn't likely forget. But maybe it was because the song was so catchy that it felt like he'd heard it before.

"Sounds like you've got trouble on your heels," Tim commented, making Geoff shake his head to bring himself to the present. "You need backup?"

"No, no, I think I've got it covered. But, what do you mean anyway?"

"They're gonna shoot you in the back with your own gun? That don't tell you anything, Geoff?"

"Heh, yeah, right. Look, I've gotta run. But I'll be sure to stay safe, just for you. And tomorrow afternoon, I'll come hunt you down and we can chat with some coffee."

"You'll get the special kind too, right?"

"Of course. Nothing but the best for my friend and partner-in-crime!"

As Geoff walked back to his car he couldn't help but be reminded of a gang he'd belonged to in his youth. But he hadn't belonged to a gang. So, why could he picture each member and put names with faces? Why did he suddenly remember poor Loco who'd been his best friend, killed accidentally in a drive by shooting?

* * *

Nick hadn't gotten much sleep since he and Greg had gotten home a few hours ago. It hadn't helped that Greg had gone straight to the guest room to sleep without so much as a 'good night' let alone a good night kiss. Half asleep, he heard a door creak open, and soft footsteps on the carpet. The bed moved and he struggled to open his eyes all the way as he rolled over. Greg was indeed crawling into bed with him.

"Greg? What are you doing?" he asked, still groggy and half asleep.

"I'm sorry, I know I've been a real bitch lately."

Greg pulled the covers up over himself and slid closer to Nick, wrapping an arm around his waist and giving him a quick kiss.

"It's just this case. The stress is driving me up the wall. I just... I want you to know it's all me. I'm just stressed out. I think that's it."

"Are you sure? Cause..."

"I called my therapist. I've got an appointment to see her next week."

Nick was dumbfounded for a moment. "You do?" It had to be more than stress if he was calling his therapist. Right? "Are you sure you're alright, honey? Please tell me the truth."

For the first time in what felt like a long time Greg's beautiful brown eyes looked up to lock onto his and what he found there almost scared him. It was like Greg had put up a barrier to his true inner thoughts and feelings lately and for this one brief moment Nick was allowed inside.

"Greg?" He reached up and cupped his face in his hand, taking in the fear and the confusion radiating from him.

"I don't know," Greg whispered before burrowing his face into Nick's chest.

Nothing more was said as they held each other close with Nick resting his chin on the top of Greg's head.

* * *

The next thing Nick knew his alarm clock was going off. Once he'd slammed the button down to stop it, he realized Greg was no longer in bed with him. He sighed and got up to get ready for work when he realized the sliding door to the back porch was open. Padding through the livingroom in his bare feet, he found Greg outside watching intently at the smoke he was blowing out his mouth, a cigarette in his right hand. He was leaning up against the railing, and didn't seem to have noticed Nick come up behind him.

Nick snaked his arms around his waist and rested his chin on his shoulder.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," he admonished while surprised that his husband seemed so cool and calm and had hardly flinched at his touch.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I find that these help. I couldn't sleep. My mind wouldn't stop racing from thought to thought. I feel better now though. Almost like I could drop off and never wake up."

"Maybe you should catch up on some sleep."

"Nicky..."

"I'm running this case, babe. You know that. And if you're not feeling well, haven't gotten much sleep, I don't want you collapsing at another scene. I'm just looking out for you is all. But I promise, if we get a whopper of a crime, I'll call you before I have Griss call swing shift in. Ok?"

"You promise?"

"I promise. Now when you finish that, go back to bed. I'm gonna go shower, then I'll make some dinner. You wanna attempt something?"

The look that crossed Greg's face told Nick he wasn't sure it was a good idea, but he agreed to Nick's special scrambled eggs anyway.

* * *

A/N: So, originally the song "Manuela Run" wasn't supposed to be in here, but I happened to be in the middle of writing one of the earlier chapters when I heard it for the first time and, you know, it just seemed to fit like a glove so I managed to work it in. It's on Toto's self-titled album, originally out in vinyl, should you care to find it.

Also, just so you know, my goal is still to finish this by March, however, I just got a job working 8 hours a day to help pay the bills as I continue to job hunt for what I really want. You all can guess what this means, I'm sure. It's been nice not having a job so I could concentrate on my fanfiction and other writing since May, but that time is over. I'm really hoping I can continue working on this at a regular pace, but if I don't, you'll know why.


	13. Chapter 13

CSI: Ghost: Chapter 13

A/N: I just want to say thanks for all the wonderful reviews you guys are leaving me. It always makes my day when I get them, and I'm especially glad you all think this story is worth the wait. Thanks guys and enjoy the update!

* * *

Geoff was back at Slick's estate, though this time he'd brought his own car out of comfort and the ease with which he could operate it in tight situations. He parked it two streets away, out of the eyesight of Slick's guards. He walked quickly toward the estate, his favorite guns hidden in his trench coat and spare bullets and magazines tucked away into his pocket next to his car keys. When he reached the high, wrought iron fence, he leaped up, grabbed hold, and swung himself over the top to land on his feet. He began running, dodging the moonlight, hiding behind bushes whenever possible. This wasn't going to be easy. He knew he'd have to resort to another weapon he'd brought with him, one he hardly ever used unless he had to. Reaching under his coat he pulled out a blackened blade that didn't glint in the light and betray his position.

He found the first guard several yards down the fence line. Sneaking up behind him he reached around, covered his mouth with his gloved hand and sliced his throat. The man crumpled to the ground, falling out of his grasp nice and quiet. Geoff smiled and continued on, his first intended major target the guard shack at the entrance to the estate. Every few yards he sliced another guard's throat and let them fall to the green earth, now turning the deep, dark, horrid red of death.

When he reached the shack, he held back, hidden behind another bush while he surveyed it. A guard came out just a few moments later, speaking into an ear piece, evidently trying to get hold of a guard Geoff Baker had already dispatched to the fiery ovens of hell. This guard had stupidly left the door ajar as the assassin leaped from the bush and sliced him down before he'd even realized what was happening.

Inside the shack he dispatched the only other guard before he set all the monitors on blank spaces in the yard, so the dead guards wouldn't be found until it was too late. He slipped out of the shack and continued around the perimeter of the estate, slicing each guard he came across. He knew by the end of the night he'd have to burn his clothes, to get the evidence as far away from him as possible, the same as he'd done with the map after he'd memorized it.

Once he'd come nearly full circle he found the guard's house. He let himself in with a keycard from one of the many guards he'd killed. Inside, he found a bunk house with a few beds, a locker room with showers, and a kitchen, stock piled with food. It looked as if the guards didn't have their own beds, so while one was up and working, another was sleeping in the same bed the first slept in while the second worked. All the bunks were full, everyone was asleep. He dispatched them quick enough, thinking how lucky they were to be in dream land, not knowing what was happening to them. There was no time to get scared, or be surprised, and no time to feel pain. In the kitchen, he found two guards chatting together about the recent football game while one of them heated up a pot of pasta and the other kept an eye on the monitors in front of him, on the yard outside. Geoff laughed, knowing the guard had missed something crucial going on outside. He sliced them, and fixed those monitors as well. It was apparent that Slick didn't care about his employees too well, for them to live like this. And with the monitors in the kitchen, they were never far from work.

Once the perimeter was clear he made his way towards the back door of the mansion which sat regally in the center of the lawn. Using the keycard he'd stolen earlier he let himself in. He found another guard just inside the doorway, who held a surprised look on his face when he saw Geoff. He made for a poor guard as he stood frozen to the spot, unable to call for backup or apprehend the intruder. Geoff smiled his sweet smile and gave the man a cheery hello before killing him.

He knew exactly where Slick Willson's office was, where his bedroom was, and he intended to save those places for last. He wanted every guard gone first and dispatching the rest wasn't too hard. The man he'd killed on his coffee run had actually done a pretty good job drawing out the mansion and placing every guard in it.

When he was sure he was alone with the crime boss he made his way to the man's private chambers. The boss was sound asleep in bed and Geoff grinned at the sight of the vulnerable man who had no clue just how vulnerable he was, even with all of the guards surrounding him. Instead of dispatching him quick, Geoff had other plans. He found the bathroom and washed off his knife before putting it back underneath his coat and pulling out a pair of handcuffs.

Over by the bed he took the pillow case off the pillow Slick wasn't using and carefully slipped it over the man's head while he slept. He then proceeded to slap him in the face, to wake him up. Slick grunted, and shook his head, sitting up. Geoff wanted to laugh at the sight of the boss in red silk pajamas as sheets fell away from his body.

He was glad the man seemed to like wrought iron a lot. It made him that much easier to handcuff to the bed as Geoff pushed him against it in a rough manner.

"What the hell's going on?" Slick asked, in confusion, trying to clear his head from sleep and get the pillowcase off at the same time. Geoff climbed up onto the bed and kneed him in the chest as he handcuffed him.

"Oh, nothing really. Just a little killing," the assassin commented.

"Do... do I know you?"

"Oh, maybe. We met at dinner, at Tony's."

There was a sharp intake of breath behind the sheet.

"You!"

"Yeah, me. Look, Tony wants to be number one. That's why he put you on his hit list. But I'm here just because you're scum. You're a crime boss, dealing in bad things, not caring if you kill an innocent person, all perfect in your hiding place up here. The rest of the world is starving, dying, sick, and you're here, only caring about yourself. Did you really think you needed that many guards to protect you, while millions of people die, unprotected every year? Hell, you needed more guards than you had. Or, should I say you needed better guards than you had."

"Steve! Steve! Get in here! Now!"

"I'm sorry. But Steve won't be joining us. Now tell me, was he the one standing right outside the door to your private quarters? Ah, yeah, probably. Well, he's still out there. But he's not standing."

Geoff sighed and watched the helpless man for a few minutes.

"I need a cigarette," he said, reaching into his other pocket and pulling out his pack, only to realize how low he was. He'd have to get more soon. He lit up and sucked on the nicotine thankful for it's soothing nature. "You know, it's a sad thing. I came up here with all these weapons and didn't get a chance to use any of them. My knife turned out to be the best. Nice and quiet. You didn't even know what was going on, did you? I thought not. But it's ok. I promise to end my speech soon. You're filthy scum and that's why you need to die. But wait... before you go, there's something I need you to do. You're a rich man. And you're not gonna need that money once you're dead. Why don't you donate it to a few charities, huh? Some homeless shelters perhaps? AIDS research? GLSEN? Oh, you wouldn't know what that is, would you? What about combating hunger in Africa? Tell me, Slick, where's your checkbook?"

Slick was stuttering when he opened his mouth to speak, "In...i... in... my...m... my... d... des... desk... dra... drawer... left... s... side... t... top..."

"You're not so slick without your troops to save you anymore, huh? I'll be right back."

Geoff left for his office and found the check book. Along with it, he gathered a notebook, pen, several envelopes and some stamps. He set them on the bed next to Slick before heading back to his office and turning on the computer. Online, he found the addresses of several charities and jotted them down on a piece of scrap paper. He went back to Slick and set the notebook and pen on his lap before climbing back onto the bed and perching himself on the headboard above Slick's head. He uncuffed him and thrust his revolver to the back of his head.

"Now, Mr. Willson, you're not going to try anything. You can't try anything. I've got a gun to your head and no one's going to come to your rescue tonight. No one. Got that?"

"Y... ye... yes.."

"Good. I'm going to take this pillow case off your head and you're not to look at me. One peek and you're dead. Got it?"

"Y... yes..."

Geoff took the case off. "I'm going to instruct you what to write and you're going to write it. Pick up the pen." Slick did as he was told. "'In the event of my death...' go on, write it! 'In the event of my death.'" Slick began writing, his hand trembling, almost making his words hard to decipher. "'I, Slick Willson, wish to leave the remainder of my assets to the following charities: Pine Hill, the homeless shelter on Dent Street in Las Vegas, Nevada; GLSEN, the Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network; and World Food, the organization brining food to poor countries around the world. I hope these organizations can use the money for purposes of good, better than I ever could.' New paragraph, Slick. 'As for my body, I am not fit for a proper burial and no one would show up anyway." Slick struggled to keep up, his hand still trembling. "Therefore, I wish to be cremated and my remains thrown out in the daily trash, as that's all I've become, killing those who get in my way just to get what I want when others are suffering in the world. I know nothing can help me escape my destiny of hell because that's what I deserve. I've thought about this for awhile and know that my death can only be a good thing for the rest of the world. I hope my money can help make it a better place, where my person could not.' Now sign it. Good. How much money do you have all together, bad boy?"

Slick thought about it a moment and came up with a large figure somewhere in the millions.

"Good lord, Slick. Well, do the math, divide that by three and write out each check, please."

Once the checks were written out to the three organizations he'd chosen for the crime boss, he had him fill out each envelope, complete with his own return address, and made him lick each stamp and envelope. He slid the pillow case over Slick's head and handcuffed him back to the bed before moving himself to crouch in front of him.

"You're time is over Slick. Do you understand that?"

The boss nodded his head.

"Good. Have fun in hell, buddy, and tell The Devil I said hi when you get there."

Geoff took his spent cigarette out of his mouth and put it out on Slick's bare chest peeking out from his silk pajama top. The crime boss screamed in pain. Geoff only laughed.

"You thought that was painful, wait till you get a load of my gun in your head."

He aimed the gun between the man's eyes through the pillow case, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Nick was in the layout room with Catherine and Warrick, going over the evidence they'd pulled from the dead man behind the tree when Catherine asked about Greg.

"So, where is your other half tonight? I didn't see you come in together."

"Hopefully he's getting some much needed rest."

"I'm surprised you managed to get him to take time off."

"Me too."

"How's he doing?"

Nick looked up at his friends, involuntarily bitting his bottom lip. "I'm still worried, but I think he's doing better. He said he thought he could get some sleep, so that's progress, I guess. Even if it is small. But no matter what, I'm gonna worry about him until I'm sure he's ok."

"Hey, it's understandable, Nicky," Catherine said. "I do the same thing with Lindsey all the time when she's sick. It's all you can do for your loved ones sometimes."

"Yeah, I know. It just hurts when he won't talk to me to tell me what's wrong. Even if it's just him not feeling well."

Nick's cell phone rang.

"Stokes."

"Hi, Nick. We've got the biggest 419 I've ever seen," Brass's harried voice came over the line. "I was just going to talk to Slick Willson to see why his guys are dropping like flies, and... Nicky, it looks bad. You're gonna need the whole team here."

"Alright, you're at his estate?"

"Yeah."

"We'll be over ASAP."

Nick hung up. He wasn't happy about this, mainly because of the promise he'd made to Greg. He had to call him in. If the scene was as bad as Brass made it out to seem, perhaps he'd better have Griss call in swing too.

"What's going on?" Warrick asked.

"New scene. And huge, according to Brass. I'm gonna have to call in Greg."

Nick sighed and hit the first speed dial on his phone. It rang and rang and rang, but no one picked up. He ended the call with a confused look on his face, wondering why Greg hadn't picked up. Usually, even when he was sound asleep it woke him up and he was always quick to answer, to rush to work. He tried the house phone, but still got no answer.

"Guys, my other half is sound asleep so much I'm not waking him up. I'm gonna have to get him in person. You mind starting at the scene without us? And call Griss, tell him we might need swing shift on this too."

"You got it. We'll see you there."

* * *

Though Nick was glad Greg had managed to finish his dinner in bed the night before, he had to admit a deep worry was creeping into him since he'd tried to call Greg again on his way home and still hadn't reached him. All the lights were off in the house when he entered. He flipped on the kitchen lights and made his way down the hall towards their bedroom where he'd last left Greg. When he pushed the door open and poked his head in, a smile crept across his face.

Greg was sound asleep in bed, his cell phone was on his night stand, lit up to tell him he'd missed a few calls. He'd probably put it on vibrate, Nick surmised, entering the room and climbing onto bed, kneeling over him. He gently kissed him, as he brushed his brown hair out of his face, keeping their lips locked together until Greg's eyes fluttered open. He smiled down at the beautiful man below him.

"I'm glad you were finally able to get some sleep," he murmered.

"Make love to me, Nicky. Right now. I need you, like I've never needed you before. Please!"

To say Nick was surprised was an understatement. He stared at Greg, unsure what to say, while consciously aware of the pleading in his lover's eyes. For awhile now, they'd hardly talked, hadn't even slept in the same bed, and now all of a sudden Greg wanted to be closer than ever? He sighed. It sounded so good too. Way too good. And Greg was reaching up, wrapping his arms around his waist, pulling him down on top of him, kissing him deeply, trying to tease his mouth open. He hated the thought of having to let him go, especially with that deep, pleading look in his beautiful brown eyes, begging him.

"G," Nick finally pulled away. "G, we can't. Not now. I need you at work."

This time it was Greg's turn to look stunned and it looked like his mind was reeling from the idea of not having sex right away.

"You do?"

"I do. Huge scene just came up. I tried to call you, but you weren't answering your cell or the house phone so I came to wake you up in person."

"Awww. Thanks Nicky."

"And I promise, without a doubt, you'll get what you wished for as soon as we get home."

"I will? Because I need you right now, Nicky."

"I already said I promised, G. And you know I don't go back on a promise."

Nick leaned down and gave him another sweet kiss. His own mind was spinning from this sudden mood change from Greg, though he decided he'd do best to enjoy it while it lasted with everything else going on lately.

"Come on, time to get up and go to work."

"Oh, Nicky!" Greg whined for the first time in a long time. "I can't! I've got this problem."

"You're gonna have to deal with that one on your own. Sorry."

Greg growled his hatred for Nick as his husband got off the bed and went to the doorway. Nick saw him reach under the covers.

"And, I forgot to mention Ecklie will be in, in just a moment to watch you."

Greg's eyes bugged open and he stopped all movement.

"I hate you Nick. I really do."

Nick just laughed. "I'll be waiting in the kitchen for you so hurry up."

* * *

At Slick's estate the team had gathered and stared in awe at the carnage that lay before them.

"The cops just barely finished clearing the place before you showed up," Warrick clarified. "That's why we haven't started processing the scene yet."

Nick gave them directions, splitting them up. He gave Catherine and Warrick the outside while he kept Greg close to him inside the mansion. He remembered all too well the last crime scene Greg had been on when he'd collapsed and he didn't want that to happen again. He kept a close eye on his husband while they worked.

When they finally reached the private quarters of the crime boss Nick viewed the office while Greg went into the bedroom and over to the bathroom first, before he viewed the dead body. When Nick was satisfied there was no evidence in the office, he moved to the bedroom.

A faint cigarette stench filled the air and he had to wave his hand in front of his face. Whoever had been smoking had done it recently and he hadn't seen evidence anywhere else in the mansion that Slick was a smoker himself. Nor his guards.

"Greg! I smell cigarette smoke!"

"I'm not that dumb, Nick!" Greg called back before exiting the bathroom and meeting Nick over the dead body.

"Right, you're not," Nick conceded when he saw the fresh burn on the man's chest.

Greg pried a letter out of Slick's dead hand, unmoving with rigor mortis, and read it out loud to Nick. "So, what do you think, suicide attempt? Seems odd for this guy to have such a change of heart like that so suddenly."

"Can't be a suicide. Why would he cover his face... unless he didn't want the world to see him dead, his face deformed by the bullet. But still, he couldn't reach around like that easily to cap himself between the eyes. And the way the rest of this place looks, I think someone came in here and did him in, after eliminating all the guards."

"Well, he could have paid a guard to do all this and kill him too. That would explain the reason there's no gun here."

"Yeah, if he was too coward to take his own life. Still sounds odd though. And look at the marks on his wrists. He was tied up for this."

* * *

"You guys got anything?" Warrick asked a few hours later when the four of them finally met up again.

"Yeah, Slick Willson's deader than a doornail complete with a suicide note and checks to send the rest of his money to some charities."

"Woah, really? That's way more than we got."

"Yeah."

"Well, look, let's head back to the lab with what we've got for evidence so far and let Swing shift pick up anything else we may have missed."

"Cool. You get anything else good?"

"Actually... we did," Greg said with a grin. "It doesn't look like Slick smokes but whoever capped him was smoking. Left a butt behind too."

"WHAT?! I thought you said he committed suicide."

"He wrote the letter, but we're doubting it was real."

"Ok, ok. What else?"

"Possible surveillance tapes. They weren't trained on his private sections of the house, but they're on all the entrances so they must have picked up something, someone entering at some point who shouldn't have."

"Nice work, Greg! Let's hope this finally leads us to someone! Maybe the answer to all these cases lately."

* * *

"G, Archie," Nick greeted as he entered the AV/Tech lab. "What'd you page me for?"

"I think we may have caught the guy on tape."

Nick looked at both men. "You serious?"

"Yeah, the way the time line goes, it has to be him. Look," Greg pointed toward the screen where Archie had paused the tape.

Nick could see a man, in a long black trench coat, wearing black gloves and a black baseball hat in the doorway of an entrance to the mansion. A dead body appeared to be at his feet. Oddly enough, he caught something else on the man. A long heavy silver chain ran around his neck and lay hidden under his trench coat.

"He's wearing jewelry," Nick commented. "Guys don't usually wear jewelry like that unless it means something." He thought about the silver band on his left ring finger and the man standing next to him. "And when it does mean something, they usually wear it everyday." He thought for a moment. "I know it's not much to go on, but print out a picture of him and send it to Brass, see what we can get from it. This is our best lead so far!"

* * *

Greg was in the locker room finally changing out of the sweat soaked shirt he'd worn to the crime scene when Warrick popped his head in. When the older CSI saw he was alone he stepped into the room and made sure the door was shut before walking over to him. Greg suddenly felt on edge the way Warrick was looking at him like he was in trouble and it reminded him of his earlier days as a CSI, when he'd been the newbie who didn't know anything, who'd screwed up more times than he could count.

"What's up, Warrick?" he asked, pushing the past from his mind. "You get anything new on the case?"

He finished buttoning up his shirt and closed his locker as Warrick came closer, almost towering over him.

"No, I don't have anything new on the case. I wanted to talk to you."

"Shoot." Greg was a little nervous but did his best to act as cool as a cucumber.

"I need you to promise me you're not gonna hurt my best friend."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you and Nick. He loves you a lot. He loves you so much that it would break his heart if you let something tear your relationship apart."

"Where is this coming from? I don't understand. Why would I do something like that?"

Now Greg was backed up against the lockers feeling entirely intimidated, and confused. After all, Nick was the only person he felt he could trust completely. Not even Warrick or Catherine, or even his boss, rated that high on his trust scale. So why did Warrick think he would intentionally ruin that?

"You're worrying him, Greg. You should know he worries easily and when things bother him, they really get to him, they eat him up. Come on, you've been married to him for five years! You didn't know that?!"

Warrick looked pissed off, and Greg wanted nothing other than to escape the room as fast as possible, but the only way out was blocked. A twinge came to his stomach, and while it wasn't bad enough to make him wince or double over, it still hurt. He knew he had to talk this through with his friend. He had to calm Warrick's fears, otherwise this would never get resolved.

"Of course I know that, Warrick. But I love him too, and I wouldn't dare do anything to break us up, you have to know that too! You have no idea how much he means to me, how much he holds me together. I can't bear the thought of losing him! And I really don't know why we're having this conversation."

The queasiness he'd had for the past few days grew steadily worse just then, as he himself began to worry about what Warrick was getting at.

"Because, he's worried about you, a lot. I heard from him that the doctor said you were fine. But I know it's more than you not feeling good. I can tell something's going on. And if something does happen, and I find out you're behind it, I'm gonna come and beat your ass, you hear me?"

_Don't hang your head, so the wise man said_

_Or boy you'll soon be dead_

_You better run, run Manuela-uela run,_

_They're gonna shoot you in the back with your own gun_

_You better run, run Manuela-uela run._

The words to the song he'd heard in the Denali came back to haunt Greg. Warrick was supposed to be on his side, yet he was threatening him. Was that, technically, someone shooting him in the back with his own gun? Maybe the gun wasn't real... but still...

Warrick continued, "I'm just looking out for him, that's all. You and I, we're friends too, I would be yelling at him instead, if your roles were reversed. But their not. I just want you to know that since you two got together, you've both been the happiest I've ever seen you, and I just don't want that to go away. Please promise me it won't?"

Realization hit Greg like a brick to the head.

"You're still thinking about Tina, aren't you?"

Warrick sighed as he stopped towering and leaned against the next locker.

"Yeah, I suppose I am. I just... I see something good between you two, something Tina and I didn't have. And I don't want your relationship to turn out like ours did."

Greg calmed down considerably. "Don't worry, I won't let it. I promise. I would never hurt Nick on purpose. If I did, I think I'd have to kill myself."

There was a slight grin playing on Greg's lips, and soon Warrick was smiling too.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I was so worried."

"Forget about it. Come on, we've got evidence to process."

"This case isn't helping anything. Getting a heavy dose of stress here..."

As the two CSIs left the locker room Greg thought back on their conversation. He'd been freaking out, but it was because Warrick was going to beat his ass for hurting Nick, not because he was at work talking with a coworker about his home life. Apparently, sometimes he surprised even himself. However, maybe the queasiness and the twinges were taking over the freaking out of his lives colliding together, helping him to keep his mind on other, more important things. Maybe.

Telling Warrick he'd meet him in the layout room, he made a quick detour to the bathroom where he locked himself in a stall. With his hands wrapped around his stomach, his forehead against the cool material of the wall, he waited out the queasiness that had come back with a vengeance at his last thoughts, along with the twinges of pain.

* * *

Geoff strolled the streets with his usual wad of hundreds tucked into his pocket. He'd already been to see Tim Frave, gave him a cup of his favorite coffee, a few crisp hundreds to get him through the week, and an hour of his time so he could tell him that war story he'd been meaning to tell him.

The story, as it turned out, was about one of his secret missions, but Tim had been so secretive about it, that Geoff could hardly understand what he was talking about. Instead of asking questions, knowing that the actual story wouldn't get spilled until Tim left the world, and also knowing that Tim figured he knew all about secret missions and espionage, he just nodded his head and managed to laugh in the right places. He'd been doing this for awhile, he knew the drill with Tim.

Now, he was walking back toward his car, passing out hundreds to anyone he'd missed earlier. He was looking forward to a nice long hot shower when he got home...

"LVPD! Stop where you are! We need to talk to you!"

The voice sounded familiar. He kept walking, unsure if the person was talking to him, also unsure if he wanted to meet them face to face, to figure out who they were and why they sounded familiar.

"LVPD! Stop!"

This time he did stop. They wanted him. He turned to see who had spoken and felt a tremble slide down his body through his spine. CSI Nick Stokes and LVPD Captain Jim Brass were walking steadily towards him. He recognized them from the news on tv about his crime scenes, and from the actual scenes themselves, watching the CSI process the trace evidence he'd left behind. But he couldn't get caught. If they caught him, Tony would disown him. Maybe even sell him to another crime boss in another city real cheap, give him another new name, and not tell his new boss that he'd been caught by the police. He couldn't let that happen. He didn't want to be sold again.

Briefly, he thought about the ring on the chain around his neck, safely tucked under his shirt and wished he could have the life associated with it. Though he couldn't remember what it was anymore, he knew it was something calm and peaceful. No one died and no one had to run from the police. Everyone was happy with the ring. If only there was someone he could trust. But in his field, there was no one. No one at all. All of his troubles were his own to bear. Not even a therapist could help him deal with life.

He turned and ran, rather than face them. He was a professional assassin, trained to disappear. And disappear, he would. Without a trace. Behind him, he heard two pairs of feet chasing after him, with the Captain panting something into his radio. He knew Nick was as fit as an athlete. He knew he was a good runner. But that hadn't been on the news. How he knew that... he wasn't sure. What he was sure of, was that he had to get away. He would have to take the long route back to his car, and an even longer route back to his apartment.

_Don't hang your head, so the wise man said_

_Or boy you'll soon be dead_

_You better run, run Manuela-uela run._

Boy, were those lyrics ever true now. Run, he had to run. And it looked like he'd lost his informant at the lab. Someone must have ratted him out. Perhaps the same someone who'd sent him the song. He wanted to sit down and debate the issue. Figure out who'd done it, and kill their ass, but he had other, more important things to do.

He tore around the corner, thankful for the lead he'd gained. Up ahead he saw Tim's head shoot up from the radio he was bent over, listening to.

"Tim! Cover me!" he called, just loud enough for Tim to hear as he passed by and ducked down another ally. He paused to catch his breath and heard Nick stop, panting heavily. He didn't hear Brass with him.

Nick asked Tim if he'd seen a fleeing man run past, and if so, where he'd run to, but the bum said he'd been carefully listening to the radio, because someone was going to be sending him a message. He was sure of it. The government wasn't finished with his services after all. Geoff heard Nick sigh in frustration, as he hurried down the ally and back toward his car, not waiting around to see where the CSI would look for him next, or if he would wait for Brass to catch up. Professional hit men didn't wait around to get caught.

As he approached the beautiful sports car, he kept an eye out for anyone watching him or the car. When he didn't see anyone he got in and quickly drove away.

Approaching his apartment building after nearly an hour of aimless driving, he passed it a few times to make sure no one was parked out front, that the cops hadn't found out where he'd lived too. It was already apparent they didn't know his name, since the Captain hadn't used it, but one couldn't be too sure of anything these days.

He carefully parked his car in its special hiding spot and went inside to grab that much wanted, and now needed, shower.

* * *

Nick moved in the darkness that was their bedroom, slowly, methodically, sweetly filling him, placing gentle kisses wherever he could reach, making sure he didn't miss an inch of his husband's skin.

Greg needed this, needed this so bad he could feel his heart breaking with it. Feeling Nick make love to him like he hadn't in months made him wonder how he could have let things reach the point of almost separation, the point where Warrick had to step in and yell at him. He was glad Warrick had put sense into his thick head. Nick was everything to him and to lose that...to lose this...the love of his life...

"Babe, what's wrong? Does it hurt? Did I do something wrong?"

Nick had slowed to a stop, hovering above Greg, looking down on him with concern and love.

Greg, unsure why he was asking these things, only looked up at his lover with confusion.

"You're crying, hun," Nick whispered. "Please tell me what's wrong."

He blinked and realized Nick was right as his husband blurred in front of him and a few tears ran down his face to gather on the pillow behind his head.

"I'm sorry, I just love you so much," he managed to get out without choking on his words. "You have no idea how happy you're making me. You're so perfect..."

He tried to brush the tears away, but Nick moved his hands and gently kissed the salty drops from his cheeks before continuing his sexual ministrations. For the first time in a long time he felt relaxed and neither twinges of pain or queasiness plagued him.

"I love you too," Nick whispered. "More than you'll ever know."

And he knew that this was what heaven was, and he began to pray that he wouldn't ever have to leave.

* * *

A/N: Just so you're aware Pine Hill and World Food were made up off the top of my head. GLSEN was not. GLSEN is the Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network, which envisions a future in which every child learns to respect and accept all people, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity/expression. If you want more information on this organization, their website is www(dot)glsen(dot)org.

The following chapters have been cut by content and not by length, so some may be a lot longer than you're used to, like this one, and others may be shorter. It really came down to what happens, and how I felt it was best to cut it. So, don't shoot me if you don't like the future chapter lengths. I'm not sorry for possible cliff hangers either. This is where things heat up immeasurably, as we're seriously nearing the end of the story. Shocked? Yup, you bet you're gonna be shocked. LOL.

With this chapter, it took a lot more time to edit than the others and I feel like I could keep editing it over and over and over again and still not be satisfied. There has to be a stopping spot, and this is it. Hopefully, there are no mistakes, and it reads well.

Only True Love asked a few chapters ago what my inspiration was for this story. Since then the list has grown and I thought I might share it with the rest of you incase you're interested. So, here's a list of everything I can think of that's helped give me inspiration to write Ghost so far (this list still might grow):

-the movie War with Jet Li, original inspiration for an assassin story

-two Dean Koontz books I've read recently: _Sole Survivor _and_Fear Nothing_, though not in a direct way except that in both, things were not as they originally seemed.

-the song "Manuela Run" by Toto because it fits the story so well

-Benton Fraser from the tv show Due South because he was always overly friendly with his neighbors, the same as Geoff is.

-my love of angst, and sweet love

-and my love of The Love, of course


	14. Chapter 14

CSI: Ghost: Chapter 14

A/N: Happy Birthday OTL!!! I know you've been asking a lot of questions about this whole story and hopefully this chapter will answer some of them for you. If not... just keep reading! Thanks for all the comments everyone, keep 'em coming and I'll keep writing!

* * *

The envelope was a standard letter size. The address on it was printed so evenly, so perfectly, it could have come from a printer. There was no return address. Inside, the folded piece of paper was crisp, new, and the words on it were few:

_We know who you are. _

_Don't close your eyes or make a wish on three_

_cause we will still be around._

_You'd better run... Manuela... if you think you can._

Geoff folded the letter and continued on his way back to his apartment. It made no sense. No one knew who he was. His name had been legally changed when he'd been sold to The Devil. He remembered that fateful day watching his first boss kill his mother when he was only five. Memories of his assassin training flew through his mind like a montage. At the age of eight he'd been handling guns, and already knew how to throw a knife with deadly accuracy. Very few people knew his original identity. And knew his name had been changed.

"Oh! Geoff! Geoff! Come here, will you? I've got something for you!"

As Geoff Baker headed up the walkway towards his apartment building he saw Mrs. Aquilina waving him over.

"How are you, Mrs. Aquilina?" he asked, giving her his brightest smile to mask his troubled mind.

"Happy birthday, Geoff!"

Geoff stopped short. His birthday. It was his birthday. His fake birthday that went with his fake identity. But still his birthday none-the-less, and his neighbor had remembered it.

"Oh, Geoff, don't tell me you forgot again! You poor dear!" she took his hand in hers, smooth from constant moisturizer use, and bony from age, and lead him into her apartment. "I've got a little something for you."

The inside of her apartment was a little bigger than Geoff's and much cheerier with the yellow curtains and comfortable livingroom chairs. Her livingroom ran into her kitchen but she had a separate bedroom and a bathroom off of that. He liked her place. It was nice. But with his job, he didn't need anything like hers. He wasn't sure he even deserved it.

Mrs. Aquilina was watching him with expectant, shining eyes, and it was then that he noticed the small birthday cake on the kitchen counter. Three candles sat, burning, in the middle.

"Well? I made it myself, you know."

He remembered. Every year since she'd learned his date of birth she'd made him a cake. They were always good. But it wasn't his birthday.

"It looks delicious," he said. And it did.

"So, blow out the candles!"

He was supposed to make a wish. Make a wish on three.

_There's no more time for living out your life_

_Your sky is falling down_

_Don't close your eyes or make a wish on three_

_Cause they will still be round_

Every year he always wished for the same thing: a simple life and someone to love him. But, this time would be different. He closed his eyes. He asked that sweet Mrs. Aquilina would live out the rest of her life happy, strong, and healthy. He asked the same for Tim Frave, his homeless friend. And one other person. Nick Stokes. He knew the CSI was only doing his job, but he was putting himself in danger by coming on to Tony Biggs and naming him in the murders. He didn't want an innocent man to get killed just for doing what he was told. Geoff wished he could be on the other side of the law, but cut himself short, reminding himself that this year, he didn't want anything for himself. Nothing for himself.

He opened his eyes and blew out the candles as Mrs. Aquilina set two tea cups on the counter and got the knife ready to cut the small cake for the two of them.

He felt like he'd just blown out the lights to his life.

* * *

"This is driving me nuts! Brass and I almost had the guy! Looked just like the picture from surveillance too," Nick complained in the break room to Greg and Warrick as he sat at the table with a cup of Greg's famous Blue Hawaiian coffee in his hands.

"That was yesterday. Get over it, man," Warrick advised. "There will be another time to catch him."

"Right. Now he knows we're after him. He'll disappear. He's good at it or we'd have him in custody by now. But I know he's tied to Tony Biggs. I just have to prove it. But it makes perfect sense. Everyone on Slick's side of the fence is dead. But no one on Tony's side has fallen. Aside from those who were stealing from him. I don't count them. He wanted them dead just as much as he wanted to be the number one crime boss in Las Vegas."

"We've got a problem," Catherine scowled when she came into the room.

"What's that?" Greg asked, looking up at her from the couch with a cup of his favorite coffee in his hand.

"The Mass Spectrometer broke."

"What?! What did she do to it?!" Greg jumped to his feet, horrified that one of his machines in his lab wasn't working. Surely someone must have tampered with it. He'd always taken such good care of them when he'd been in DNA years ago.

"It wasn't anything anyone did, Greg. Calm down. I just don't know where we're gonna get the money for a new one, cause whatever's wrong with it, it can't be fixed. Grissom's in a snit over his case because he can't get his DNA processed and he's not sure if we can get a new one with the short funding leash we've been given lately. I mean, we will get one, eventually. It'll just take too much time to secure that kinda money."

"Shit," Warrick swore under his breath. "So, what does that mean for our case? This thing's huge, we can't just put it on the back burner."

"Right. Which is why you all should be glad Wendy got to that cigarette butt first. She got a hit on CODIS just before the Mass Spec. broke."

"Sweet! Well...?"

"Geoff Baker. Lives in an apartment building close to Henderson."

She handed Nick the slip of paper with Geoff's address.

"Good. I'm going to go finally prove that this assassin is connected to Tony Biggs. Greg? You wanna ride along?"

Greg's eyes lit up at the chance, feeling like his old cheerful self once again. "Sure!"

"Great. Warrick, Cath, I guess you should finish processing the evidence from Slick's estate. No need for all of us to go."

"Sure thing, boss," Catherine said with a hint of sarcasm, since she was technically his senior and should be ordering him around. She left the room in a hurry.

Nick was already at the door after depositing his mug in the sink.

"You coming, G?" he looked back at Greg, who still sat on the couch, clutching his own mug.

"Yeah, yeah, just give me a minute to finish my coffee. I'm not leaving one single drop behind."

"Hurry up, dude. I'm not gonna wait forever."

Greg grinned and watched Nick leave. When he was gone, Greg turned to Warrick, and swallowed the lump that had formed there.

"Yes?" Warrick asked, as if he knew Greg wanted to talk to him about something important.

"I... I just wanted to say thanks. For kicking some sense into my head last night. I did need it. I love him, you know that. And I would never intentionally hurt him. But I was bringing something between us, and I was a little oblivious about it. So, thanks."

"Glad I could help," Warrick said. The older CSI looked at Greg for a moment before he stood up. "Best get back to work."

"Wait," Greg stopped him, his favorite coffee forgotten on the flat arm of the couch. I need you to do me a favor."

"A favor?" Warrick looked skeptical.

Greg forced himself to believe he could trust Warrick implicitly, as Nick's best friend, aside from himself. He gulped again, a twinge of pain flowing over him. "I need you to promise me you will take care of Nick, should anything happen to me, on the job, or otherwise," he stopped and waited for his friend's response.

"Greg... what's going on? What are you going to do?"

"Nothing. I just... I know... I knew... I've always known how much it would hurt Nick if anything happened to me. I don't want to leave him. I don't want anything to happen to either of us. I want to spend the rest of my life with him, just like I promised when I gave him his wedding ring. But... life has a way of changing things without warning. And I just want to be sure that he'll have someone to look after him, to make sure he'll be ok."

"Then you know that whatever I do, won't ever be enough. If you go, he won't ever be ok."

"I know. But please, for me, look after him?"

"I'll do my best, Greg. But know that I don't like the sound of this. And if I find out you did anything..."

"I know, I know, you'll kick my ass. Believe me, if something like that happens, please, hurt me the worst way you possibly can, because I'll deserve it. But you know how this job is. You remember that time the mob nearly took my life. You remember how devastated Nick was. If that were to happen again and I don't make it..."

"You're right. And yes, I will look after him. Ok? Now hurry up before he begins to worry about you again."

Greg nodded his thanks before ducking out of the room and running to catch up with Nick in the locker room.

* * *

After knocking several times, Brass let Nick and Greg into the apartment by way of the keys the landlord had lent them. For some reason, there was an older woman who was watching them suspiciously from around the corner.

"You boys ok here?" Brass asked once he'd cleared the apartment.

"Yeah, sure. Why? What's up?" Nick took the warrant from the Captain that specified the need for Geoff's arrest as well as a search of his apartment.

"I'm gonna go talk to her. See what she knows," he nodded his head in the direction of the older woman.

The two CSIs got to work once Brass was gone. Nick was extremely unhappy that Geoff, their possible assassin, wasn't home when they'd come calling. But Greg had already heard enough about it on the way over with all of his 'what if's and 'I'm gonna's. Now, he kept his mouth shut.

"I can't believe someone actually lives here. This place is almost a dump."

"Nick, you've seen worse. What's so bad about this place?"

"Well, look at it. I mean, the walls are plain white. It's bare. He's got almost nothing here. Nothing that says 'this is home'." Nick opened the refrigerator. "And there's almost no food in here at all. Just left over Chinese take-out and some spoiled milk."

Greg mumbled something under his breath that almost sounded like "should throw that out later."

"What?" Nick straightened and turned to face the other CSI.

"I said, maybe he doesn't live here," Greg spoke up. "Maybe he calls somewhere else home for ninety-five percent of the time and so he doesn't want to spend time making this 'home' when he has a real home somewhere else."

"So... what? He's only here to cheat on his wife or his girlfriend? What girl would want to do anything with a guy in this boring place?"

"Nick, you don't know anything about this guy so stop being so judgmental. The file never said he had a wife to cheat on. And who knows... maybe he's not even straight. Maybe, he doesn't have anyone at all to cheat on."

Greg went through the dresser drawers.

"He's an assassin, Greg, why are you getting all defensive for him?" Nick asked as he shined his flashlight into the tiny bathroom.

"I'm just saying, not everyone can have a nice house like us, whether they're good or bad. That's all. I'm just tired of the world judging everyone based on what material possessions they have and what they don't have."

Only the bare essentials of cheap shampoo, deodorant, a bar of soap, toothpaste and a toothbrush were in the bathroom when Nick walked further in. One towel hung on the towel rack, neatly folded and a four pack of toilet paper still in it's plastic wrap sat in the corner next to the toilet plunger and brush. Under the sink he found common kitchen and bathroom cleaners along with some sponges. Nothing more.

Nick turned to look at Greg. The look on Greg's face said he was trying to keep his nerves in check as he bit his lip. He'd stopped going through the dresser drawers after bagging what looked like license plates, and had started on the night stand, but was now paused in his work. He looked as if he wanted a cigarette and would have had one if they weren't at a crime scene.

"G?" Nick silently worried that maybe he was having more pain, and felt himself ready to leap should his husband start to collapse again.

"I'm going out on a limb here," Greg said, his voice quavering just enough for Nick to notice. "We're working and I can't spend time on this... but... it's not the material things that matter in life. Sure, we've got this great house, and I love it, but it doesn't mean that much to me by itself. I could be living under a cardboard box on the street right now, and I'd be happy. As long as I've got you. You're what matters to me. I love you, you love me, and that's what matters. Some people think it's the material things, but not everyone does. And I'm guessing, the way this man lives, he believes the same thing."

"What do you mean?"

Greg showed him the black Moleskine notebook, already opened to the first page. He lowered his eyes to the book and began to read outloud:

_Another year older. I guess that makes this notebook my birthday present to myself. Mrs. Aquilina reminded me of the day, as she does every year. Made me the same cake with the same three candles she always does. This time I didn't wish for anything for myself. I can't. Every year I ask for a simple life, with someone to love me for who I am. And every year it doesn't happen. It's time I concentrated on others around me. Mrs. A, for example. I hope she lives a long, happy, healthy life. I hope Tim Frave does too. He deserves it, living on the street the way he does... _

"That's the homeless guy Brass and I ran into yesterday!" Nick exclaimed, interrupting Greg. "He sold us out! I thought he was just crazy, but he knows Baker! Damn!"

Greg only continued to read once Nick was done ranting:

_...And Nick Stokes. I know he's only doing his job. His boss says process the scene, he has to do it. When my boss says jump, I can only ask how high..._

"He... he wished that... for me?" Nick was beyond shocked. "But... he didn't mention you... or anyone else."

"I'm usually the one in the background. You're the one that chased him down yesterday." Greg hadn't even looked up as he spoke. He went back to reading Geoff Baker's words:

_I've never used a journal before. No one else can help me. I wish I could see a therapist, but I can't. I've got no one but this little notebook and I'll have to burn this when it's full, maybe even before that, so no one else finds it, reads it. If my boss knew I was doubting my job..._

"It looks like he couldn't voice his thoughts, even on paper," Greg said. "He trails off, and that's all he wrote." Greg looked up at Nick, a new depth to his always deep eyes. "He doesn't value material possessions. Only life... and love."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say this was a bad way of living. I don't value material possessions either. You know that. But, Greg, how do you know that wasn't planted for us to find?"

"It looks too real to me. He's calling out for help, but no help is coming. He doesn't like his job, but he has no choice." His eyes shimmered in the soft lighting.

"But why buy such a nice and expensive notebook if you're only going to burn it later?"

"Because you don't trust such secret inner thoughts to just anybody, Nick. When you've got something like this on your mind, you choose carefully who you tell. It's the same thing with a notebook."

Nick began to nod. It did make sense.

"Hey guys, you find anything interesting? His hit list, maybe?" Brass stood in the open doorway. "Or am I intruding on a personal conversation on company time, here?"

"Nope," Greg shut the notebook. "I got three sets of license plates, a brand new journal complete with one entry, and a pack of cigarettes."

"That's it?"

"Sorry. We didn't strike gold with the hit list. Looks like his boss holds onto that. So, what did you get out of the woman?" Nick asked.

"Mrs. Aquilina. Seventy-eight. She says Baker's a good boy. She made him a cake because today is his birthday. Also said she has to remind him about his birthday every year. He forgets. But he's a sweet boy because he helps her out when she needs it. Always cheerful, holding the door open for her, carrying her groceries sometimes. She's just sad because for such a nice boy he hasn't found the perfect girl yet. Isn't that sweet of her?"

"Yeah, real sweet. Well, I guess that means his first journal entry is dated today. Since her account matches up with what he wrote."

"She also seemed a little wary of something. Not sure what, though I noticed she kept looking in your direction earlier, Greg. Don't know why."

Greg shrugged and then smiled. "Must be my amazing good looks."

All three men chuckled.

"Oh, and I took the liberty of searching for his car. Not there."

"Figures, since he's not here."

"Yeah, but get this, he gets a special spot, all locked up."

"What?" both Nick and Greg looked up at the Captain.

"The landlord said it used to be a storage place in the garage, kept the lawn mower and other things in there. But when he started renting to Baker, Baker asked for the space for his car. He's paying extra for the space and also paid the landlord enough to build a real shed out back for his mower and tools."

"Wow. Maybe he does have another place to live, G."

* * *

Greg stumbled into the house, tired and feeling overly queasy after searching Geoff's apartment. He wasn't sure why he felt so sick from going to Geoff Baker's apartment. But something there had made him feel immeasurably worse than he had before, almost to the point of collapse. He was just glad Nick had dropped him off at home before he went back to work to clock in some over time. Of course, Greg was under strict rules to call Nick if he went from bad to worse.

He had to admit he was confused a little bit by the turn of events at the assassin's apartment. He didn't know why he believed everything the man had written. He shouldn't have. The CSI in him told him, just like it had Nick, that the journal could easily have been planted if he knew they were coming. But he had been defending the man. He and Baker agreed that a simple life with someone who loves you was the best way to go. How could he not defend that?

But it got even weirder. He remembered Nick poking in the refrigerator, commenting on the old food and the spoiled milk and he remembered saying that he'd have to throw it out later. Why he'd said that, he wasn't sure. Now, he entered their kitchen and looked in the fridge. There was no Chinese take-out that needed to be thrown out and the milk was fresh, just bought the other day. So why had he said that? He headed for the bedroom and crashed onto the bed. He wished he knew the answer.

He wished he could help the man in some way. He was sure Baker needed help, but he wasn't sure what he could do for him. If anything.

Outside, he heard the mailbox open and close and decided he would check the mail before getting his required rest. Clutching his stomach with one arm, he stumbled back outside, and wondered why he felt the need to do this, when resting was clearly the better move. Nick could get the mail when he came home later. He sighed and opened the box. Inside, he found only one letter. Odd. Now that they'd been living in the same house for a few years, they didn't go a day without a ton of junk mail.

He looked at the letter. The envelope was a standard letter size. The address on it was printed so evenly, so perfectly, it could have come from a printer. There was no return address. The folded piece of paper inside was crisp, new, and the words on it were few:

_Which side are you on?_

_If you chose the wrong one... you can't outrun your own gun... Manuela._

His eyes opened wide. That song... that song that had been stuck in his head lately. It wasn't just the DJ's choice that night. It wasn't. But what did this letter mean? What side was he supposed to choose? What were his choices? He went back into the house, back to bed, and remembered comparing Warrick to 'his own gun' just because they were on the same side, technically. Was this a threat from his friend? No. He was still alive, still madly in love with Nick, still willing to do anything for the man who loved him.

He collapsed back onto the bed and hugged his pillow.

Was this related to the phone call he'd gotten not so long ago? To the man with the deep voice? It had to. Though the first one had threatened Nick's life. This one was threatening his own. He'd worked hard to put that phone call out of his head and now it was back, rearing it's ugly head. Nick... he wished he could call Nick, but this... he got the feeling if he told anyone, even Nick, this would turn more serious. That it would suddenly turn into more than just threats. But who could he call? Was there anyone to help him? Anyone who wouldn't draw attention to themselves or get caught?

A soft whimper escaped his lips, unheard by anyone else, as he did his best to ignore the increasing pain in his stomach. The room began to spin around him and he shut his eyes tight, feeling the tears slipping down his face. Nick... he needed Nick...

But what he needed more, he now knew, was for his blocked brain to become unblocked. He allowed himself to wonder, for perhaps the first time, what was going on in the rest of his life that he continually barricaded from his life as a CSI and as a loving husband. What had he gotten himself into? Yes, it was there somewhere in the back of his mind, that piece that would let him give an answer to the letter. It was there. He just had to find it, before the pain overtook him and he passed out.

His whole body began to tremble and when he opened his eyes again, the room spun faster and faster. He shut his eyes, clutching at his stomach. He needed to tell Nick the truth...

"Nick..." his weak cry came out like that of a mewling kitten, calling for help when no help was near.

He could do nothing but whimper Nick's name as the pain refused to let up.

* * *

Geoff reparked his Dodge Viper in his private parking space, glad that his informant had told him the cops had been coming. However, he was also angry at himself for stupidly leaving the damned cigarette butt at the scene. He was a professional assassin. He knew better than to smoke on the job. Before and after were fine, but during the committing of a crime was not the correct way to commit a crime, especially one that involved homicide.

Entering his apartment he headed straight for the refrigerator to dump out the old food his informant had also told him about. Things were not going well at all if someone else had to tell him about the state of affairs in his own fridge. Not well at all.

There was a knock on his door and when he opened it Mrs. Aquilina was standing there.

"The police were here earlier and I was worried about you!" she exclaimed upon seeing him. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, Mrs. A. I was just down at the station and it turned out they'd gotten me mixed up with someone else. Our names are similar," he eased her fears with a quick lie and a wide smile.

"Oh, I feel so much better now! I'm so glad it was just a mix up. Oh, you have no idea! When you left with them I saw you carrying a case of your belongings and I thought 'oh dear Lord, what have you gotten into?'"

Geoff stared at her. He hadn't been there. He'd been as far away from his apartment with his precious Viper as he could get while the cops searched it and found nothing. Nothing except his brand new journal he'd forgotten about because he wasn't used to having it yet. But he hadn't been there. So, who had she seen? Should he tell her it wasn't him?

"Well, I was just about to take my trash out and then I've got to run. I'm sorry to cut you short."

"Oh, don't worry about that. I'm just glad you're ok. That's all I came for anyway."

Mrs. Aquilina patted him on the arm and said goodbye before going back to her own apartment. Geoff took the small trash bag over to the dumpster, mulling over what she'd said.

It was on his way back to his apartment that his phone began to ring. It was Tony, he figured, telling him that he was to receive a large bonus for finally killing Slick. More money he didn't need, and would never use.

"Hello?"

"Geoff, I've got another job for you."

It was Tony Biggs, aka The Devil. But he wasn't calling about money. Geoff's heart sank at the prospect of having to go to work again. He'd thought his job would be done for awhile so he could relax, enjoy himself a little. But no. That wouldn't happen for a long time, apparently.

"I want this done tonight," Tony continued. "This is of utmost importance. More so than Slick was. He needs to be dead ASAP. The sooner, the better. And I don't care if he's at work, or at home with family. I want him dead. Now."

"Who could be that important?" Geoff asked.

"Nicholas Stokes."

Of course. Nick was the lead CSI on the cases that had been linked to Tony. It made sense that he would want him dead. Especially after Slick was killed. That was a big murder, not just his lawyer, but another crime boss, an outranking crime boss at that.

"I'll get right on it," Geoff said before hanging up and entering his apartment.

The sooner he killed Nick, the sooner he could relax. On the other hand, he knew Nick was just doing his job. He remembered his wish over his birthday candles earlier that day and wondered if maybe he shouldn't have made it. Had he jinxed everyone? Nick was going to end up dead by the end of the night. What about Tim and Mrs. A? The truth was, he didn't have time to think about them. He had a job to do.

Thanks to his informant at the lab he knew Nick was working overtime. A sad smile crept over his face. Nick had left his poor husband home alone, in pain, while he went to work on the case. Maybe it was a good thing Tony wanted him dead. He was becoming obsessed with the case, with bringing Tony down. Geoff shook his head, thinking of the man's sick husband. He'd paid him a visit that afternoon in order to make sure nothing of importance was found at his apartment when they'd looked and that he wouldn't leak the information he knew about Geoff to anyone else. He'd found Greg curled up on his bed, clutching his stomach, and whimpering something awful he couldn't understand. What was clear to him, however, was that if his husband had come home to him then, he would have blurted everything. And that was something Geoff didn't need. But Greg had been an invaluable informant and he wasn't ready to give that up yet. Hence the reason the man wasn't dead yet. A gag and some duck tape had shut the lab rat up real good and now, he was stuffed in the trunk of his own car parked several blocks away, with no one else the wiser.

He would show Greg he meant business. And now, with his new assignment he knew just how he would do it. He wanted him to know what it was like to loose someone you love, the way he'd lost his mother. He wanted to see how Greg handled it when he found out Nick was dead.

He looked down at the ID badge he'd taken from his pocket. It was the same one he'd ripped from Greg's shirt earlier. He was a little surprised at how much they looked alike. But it was a good surprise. He could easily slip into the lab, as Greg, shoot Nick, and get out before anyone had realized just what had happened. Of course, this would mean Greg would be framed for Nick's murder, and he'd lose his informant. But then he remembered the sick, huddled mass he'd found, and realized his informant was already gone. It didn't matter now, whether he framed him or not, but if he did, the heat would be off of himself and Tony, which was just what the crime boss wanted.

Then it made sense. What Mrs. A. had said. She hadn't seen Geoff. She'd seen Greg Sanders, come to process his apartment for evidence. But they looked so much alike and she knew nothing of Sanders. It was no wonder she thought she'd seen Geoff entering his own apartment with the police. The case she'd seen must have been Greg's CSI case, full of evidence bags, latex gloves and finger print powder. He shook his head and almost laughed. She wasn't that senile, which meant getting into the lab to off Sanders-Stokes would be a piece of cake.

Reaching underneath the bed he pulled up two floorboards and grabbed the car keys he'd stashed there upon his return and his wallet. His hands brushed over the money his boss had been sending him in the mail for years. The pile had been steadily growing, and now its hiding spot was barely big enough. Once this new job was done he was going to have to move, so Greg couldn't spill the beans about his location. He'd also need a bigger place to hide all his money. Unless he was able to give it all away in a short period of time without being too obvious.

After making sure he looked enough like Greg and wouldn't leave any evidence behind to link to his real self, he headed back for the Viper and drove straight to the lab, his heart pounding. This was going to be both exciting and difficult. A crime lab full of cops, people with guns, and he was just going to waltz in like one of their own and shoot a man. Of course, he'd done that at Slick's and had gotten away with more than one man. If he could do that, then for sure he could do this. He couldn't wait to read the news the following day.

Arriving in the vicinity of the LVPD crime lab he parked the car a few blocks away and started walking, his favorite revolver in the waistband of his jeans, covered by his long t-shirt from some crazy rock band he'd never heard of. Nick's truck was in the parking lot. His nerves kicked in, but he couldn't stop to smoke. He needed to be hyper-aware of everything going on around him.

Stepping into the building, he realized what a perfect time this was. The place was busy and Judy, the receptionist, was on the phone. No one noticed him walk in. And then he saw him. He'd expected to have to search for Nick, but there he was down the hall in front of him. Exiting one lab and entering another next to the previous one.

He froze. It was Nick Stokes. Nick Sanders-Stokes. The man who was married to Greg, his sadly sick informant. He felt the weight of the gun pulling him down toward earth. The CSI was just doing his job. Nick left the second lab and walked down the hall, away from him. He started to follow him, his eyes on those broad, beautiful shoulders, and he began to see why Greg had fallen for him. Nick was wearing his favorite moss green button down shirt. The one that made him look so irresistible. He'd changed his clothes after dropping Greg off at home. His eyes traced the well-toned arms, saddened that they'd been covered up, and ended at the man's beautiful hands. He could do so much with those hands. So much... And then Geoff saw it. The silver band on his left ring finger. Engraved with Greg's name on it.

A tiny choked sound came from Geoff's mouth and he looked away from the retreating back to his own hands, clutching the revolver. He hadn't even realized he'd drawn it. On his own left hand he saw the imprint of a wide band, left there by lots of time spent in the sun. A burning sensation began to fill his heart as Nick stopped to talk to someone he couldn't see. The ring was on the chain around his neck. It didn't belong there. It belonged on his left ring finger. He'd been in a committed relationship. Marriage. He was in a committed relationship. He'd known happiness and love the way he'd always wanted it.

His Nicky... with a gun aimed at him.

Worlds collided inside his head, sounding like a thousand children playing with large symbols.

He'd meant to show Greg what it was like... but he would only be showing himself... he began to feel queasy at the thought... no... that was Greg. Greg wasn't feeling well. Was locked in his own trunk, bound and gagged. But no, it was himself that Nick worried over. Also himself that Nick wanted to see behind bars.

The symbols crashed in his head and a sharp twinge of pain hit his stomach. He began to tremble. Greg was the one who felt pain. He never felt pain.

Nick, finished with his conversation, was about to turn around as Geoff spun on his heels and ran out of the lab, confused tears streaming down his face and a whimper on his lips.


	15. Chapter 15

CSI: Ghost: Chapter 15

Geoff drove the Viper as fast and as far out of Las Vegas as he could with blurry eyes and tears still running down his face. He braked to a sudden stop after swerving off the road. He put the car into park but didn't turn the engine off. Letting the radio play some horrid rock song he couldn't imagine liking he rested his head on the steering wheel and openly wept, sobbing into his long sleeves.

The facts crashed into his head... his parents had openly gone against his first crime boss in California, seeking out the cops. His mom was forced to watch as his dad was tortured in front of her and then told how her son would be trained as an assassin. His first bit of training included watching his mom get shot and bleed to death. His boss wanted him to learn how to be unemotional during death. He'd faked his unemotional state and cried like a baby later once he was alone. He tried to remember their names, their faces... but he'd only been five at the time.

While he'd almost inherited a perverse liking for killing (at least known criminals) from the boss who'd trained him, he didn't like his job. All these years he'd only been pretending to like it as much as he did. He was being the assassin his boss wanted him to be and that was it. What he liked was science and had always wanted to do something with chemistry for a living, something honest.

No! He fought the truth. He didn't want it. It would get him killed. But the truth was the truth and he realized he couldn't hide it any longer. His worlds had officially collided with Nick now on his hit list and it was time he confronted them and dealt with them. Finally clearing his mind after living so many years in lies, he picked out the truths and tossed the rest.

The first on that list: that horrid rock song was actually Marilyn Manson, his favorite music artist, though he'd spent years pretending he couldn't stand the man's hard metallic sounds.

And it was true, he'd snuck in classes at Stanford, getting his degree in science just before his name was changed to Geoff Baker and he was shipped off to Tony Biggs for a hefty price. What was his original name? The one he'd used at Stanford? All this time he'd worked hard at forgetting it. Now, the only name that came to mind was that of his informant at the lab, Greg Sanders, who wasn't actually Greg, he realized.

He didn't want to acknowledge the truth of his existence, but seeing Nick wearing Greg's wedding ring, about to be killed like an innocent animal on the hunt to feed a starving man, reminded him that he was the one who'd caused Greg's new pain. Greg knew what he'd done. Deep down, Greg knew, even if he couldn't admit it to himself. And the CSI hated it, because he believed wholeheartedly in the right side of the law. The thought of killing someone in cold blood revolted him. It revolted Geoff too, he knew deep down, though he hated to admit it. But he wasn't so goody goody that he got sick over it, he'd been trained to be tough through bloody situations. But then, he wasn't the one processing the crime scenes, seeing the complete aftermath of his own work, analyzing every detail.

His foster parents had actually been one crime boss before he was shipped to his current boss. He'd never even lived near the territory of the Wolf Pack gang. He'd only heard about it over dinner one night. Johnny Drake thrusting an AK-47 into his hands at the age of fourteen was actually his boss and he'd been eight and a half when he'd graduated from hand guns to large automatics. He sighed, hating himself for lying to Nick, but at the time it had been the truth. When he'd moved to Las Vegas he'd seen his first gang banger late one night, and that image of the piercing blue eyes, pointed gotee, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and his face hidden by a black hooded sweatshirt had stuck in his mind. Finding a phone book, he'd found a name to go with the image, and his whole past with the Wolf Pack came into being if anyone ever asked. He'd gone over the details so many times he'd started to believe it was true. And when Nick had finally asked over five years later, the story tumbled out of his mouth without a second thought.

The final truth was that Greg Sanders-Stokes, while not still at home, curled up in bed in pain, was also not locked in his own trunk, tied and gagged. Without the lies, Greg had nearly killed his own husband because he'd been ordered to by a crime boss who thought he could own a man, who thought he could own a whole city by killing his enemies.

He wanted love. Love was all he'd ever wanted, and Greg had provided that. He remembered meeting Nick for the first time at the lab, during his first night at work. He'd been so nervous his boss would find out about his double identity before he'd learned to cover his tracks so well, and Nick had set him at ease just by being in the same room.

He leaned back against the seat with a heavy sigh before pulling the chain out from under his shirt. In just one night he would ruin the love he had. Or had he ruined it from the start by assuming his original name part-time and creating that simple life he'd always wanted? ... his original name... the one his parents gave him... Greg. He was Gregory Hojem Sanders-Stokes LVPD CSI. He just wished Nick had gotten a chance to meet Mr. and Mrs. Sanders, because if he had gotten that chance, it meant there had been some sort of normalcy to his life. He wanted to know them better too, but knew he'd never get that chance. His parents were gone from him forever. And soon... Nick would be too. Five years of marriage just wasn't enough time. Not even forever could be enough.

He ran his fingertips over the words engraved into the silver wedding band on the chain: "I (heart) you." Would Nick still love him after this? Would he ever be forgiven? He turned the ring over and lovingly traced over his husband's name, recalling how Nick took his hand and slipped the ring onto his finger during their commitment ceremony. Of course Nick shouldn't still love him and shouldn't forgive him, though he knew Nick would because that's who he was, the perfect loving husband. Remembering how Nick had made him weep the last time they'd made love just made everything that much worse and his current tears flowed harder down his face to soak his shirt.

What he'd been doing was wrong, revolting.

"_We know who you are. One slip up and your precious hubby is dead._"

He knew now, the owner of the deep voice on the phone threatening Nick's life had been Tony Biggs. The boss had known all along about his secret life as Greg Sanders.

_We know who you are. _

_Don't close your eyes or make a wish on three_

_cause we will still be around._

_You'd better run... Manuela... if you think you can._

_Which side are you on?_

_If you chose the wrong one... you can't outrun your own gun... Manuela._

Tony had been the one to send both letters. He'd also been the one to have the song played on the radio. And maybe he knew that Geoff wouldn't have a clue about the song if only Greg heard it, so he'd had it sent to Geoff's PO Box on cassette. The words were so clear cut, telling him his life with Nick was over. Why hadn't he gotten the message before? Perhaps he could have done something earlier to avoid all this pain.

_Don't look now, _

_you better watch that sword that's hanging over you_

_It's a long hard road and they will spit you _

_out when they get through with you_

_Don't hang your head, so the wise man said_

_Or boy you'll soon be dead_

_You better run, run Manuela-uela run,_

_They're gonna shoot you in the back with your own gun_

_You better run, run Manuela-uela run_

_Manuela run_

_There's no more time for living out your life_

_Your sky is falling down_

_Don't close your eyes or make a wish on three_

_Cause they will still be round_

A new anguish he'd never felt before crept into his heart. While he wasn't feeling the twinges of pain that had wracked his body recently, he was still queasy, though the feeling had gone down considerably since he'd pulled the truth from his mind and tossed the lies. Now, his heart was breaking, cracking right down the middle, shattering into a million little pieces. He'd found the love he'd always wanted and now he had to let it go.

He had one last chance to make things right. And he would use that chance to keep Nick alive, no matter what the means necessary. Even if he, himself, had to die in the process. He didn't need Nick seeing his beloved husband go to prison. Nick had to know that no matter what he'd done or what had happened, he'd always loved Nick, had always put Nick before himself, and always would. Always.

With a plan beginning to form, he wiped the last of his tears away and put the car back into gear. He was Gregory Hojem Sanders-Stokes, and he always had been underneath the colder exterior of the assassin, Geoff Baker, no matter what his boss thought. It was time to loose his second identity and become the man he'd always truly been.

* * *

Greg parked the Dodge Viper a few blocks away from the house he owned with Nick and walked to the house. There were several things he needed to do while he was there, but one would take some time so he did it first. Grabbing a lined notebook he wrote a lengthy letter that took him almost half an hour to get just right. With the heaviest of hearts he signed it at the bottom and folded it up, with Nick's name on the front facing flap. He left it on the kitchen table standing up between both his work cell phone and his personal cell phone so Nick would be sure to see it when he got home later. In front of the letter he left his house key before grabbing a plastic bag from the collection they kept under the sink. In his bedroom he riffled through his clothes and pulled out a nondescript change of clothes that he hardly ever wore, stuffing them in the bag.

Finding his field kit by the front door where he'd dropped it upon coming home sick earlier, he opened it and took out several new evidence bags, and a pair of gloves. He put them in a separate plastic bag to keep evidence transfer at bay. He was done. He had everything he needed from the house. He locked the door and closed it behind him, knowing he'd never set foot inside ever again.

Stepping into the mind set of the trained assassin he kept his tears at bay and drove into town. At a shoe store he'd never shopped in before, he bought a pair of Doc Martens, something he hadn't worn since college, and paid for them in cash. Next door, he bought a first aid kit at a drug store, also paid for in cash, before driving back to his tiny apartment.

Ducking his head underneath his bed he pulled up the floor boards and took out all the cash he'd stored there. He counted it quickly, splitting it up into four piles. He grabbed four envelopes and put the money into them, labeling one with Grissom's name and "Mass Spec.", the second two with "house" and "Nick/joint account", and the fourth with "self". Taking only the key to his Dodge Viper, he locked the apartment door behind him and left for good. He was now officially homeless, living in his car. But he wouldn't even have that for very long. Once everything was complete he'd torch the beautiful Viper, sending bright flames and dark smoke rising into the night, getting rid of as much evidence as he possibly could.

He checked his watch. It was four in the afternoon. He had just enough time to complete his preparations. He went to the bank he and Nick used. Taking out the envelope labeled "house" he paid off the loans they'd taken out on the house. It was now completely theirs. He pulled out the second envelope labeled "Nick/joint account" and deposited it in their joint account. The teller gave him an odd look when she saw the amount of cash he was dealing with, but didn't say anything as she put it into the account and paid off the loan. He then took his name off the account. Nick was now a millionaire and had no clue.

* * *

Making sure to slip his wedding ring back onto his left ring finger he drove as fast as he could without getting caught back to the lab.

"Sorry guys, DNA is backlogged still. There is no money..." Greg heard Wendy down the hall talking to one of the swing shift CSIs.

Judy was not at the front desk and he was grateful as he set the third envelope with money on the desk so she'd be sure to see it when she got back.

Knowing what he had to do next, knowing this could possibly be the last time he ever saw his husband, he went in search of the other man.

_There's no more time for living out your life_

_Your sky is falling down._

He felt anger finally burning into him. Anger that Nick, the one person he'd ever been able to truly love and trust had been put on a hit list. And as the anger came into him, it slowly dissipated into a calm that filled him to over flowing. He was a trained assassin, a trained CSI, a DNA Analyst, and a loving husband all in one, and he was here to right the wrongs that had been done, to turn his life around and recognize the truths about himself. While the pain in his heart stayed, he felt the calm reach his stomach and the queasiness and the twinges of pain flew away from him like a bird leaving it's nest for good. He felt better, knowing he finally had some sort of control over where his life was going now.

He found Nick in the locker room and was relieved to know they were alone. His husband was searching through his locker for something, not having seen Greg come in. Before he approached him he stood in the doorway and watched him for a moment, taking in everything, memorizing his choice of jeans and the moss green shirt he'd bought him for his birthday years ago. He wanted one more night alone with him, but he knew he would never get it. Tony wanted Nick wasted before dawn. Greg gulped and struggled to hold back his tears. He didn't need Nick to see that he'd been crying. He was strong. He could do this. He had to.

"Nicky?" his voice came out as a mere squeak.

Nick pulled his head from his locker and took one quick look at Greg before he was by his side helping him to sit down.

"Greg, why didn't you call me? I would have come home if you needed me."

Greg understood. Nick thought he was in pain. And it was true. He was. Just not in the same way as before and not for the same reason. This was a different pain, one that would be harder to control.

"I'm fine, Nicky. I'm fine." he took a deep breath, and ignored his shattering heart. "I just... I need to tell you some things." He reached out and took both of Nick's hands in his own, keeping his eyes on their intertwined fingers as he spoke. "I've come to terms with my life. I'm ok with it now. I can come here and talk about us together without breaking down. I didn't mean to let it come between us. I didn't mean for any of the recent happenings to happen."

"Greg, I thought we went over this before?" Nick freed one of his hands and raised Greg's chin with a finger so he could look him in the eyes.

"We did. I'm just solidifying it. That's all. I need you to know that I'm fine now. The pain is gone. I was... I was punishing myself... for something... I didn't even realize I was doing it," he admitted.

"The... the pain was punishment? For what?"

The concern and love flowing from Nick's eyes only smashed his heart into pure splinters as he struggled to hold onto the calm he'd found.

"G, please talk to me. What's going on? I don't understand."

Greg gulped. "You will soon enough, but I can't tell you right now. I'm sorry, I wish I could. I just want you to know that I'll do anything to keep you safe," he began to rush through his words. "Will you promise me that you won't leave this building? It's the safest place for you to be right now. At least for a little while. Promise me as soon as I leave you'll find Warrick, and you won't leave his side until the end of the night?"

"Greg, if you're involved in something... I want you to tell me what it is... whatever it is, you know it won't stop how I feel about you."

He could hear the underlying tones in Nick's voice that told him he'd already begun the process of breaking his husband's heart. He wanted nothing but to turn away from Nick's brown eyes searching his soul, but his finger under his chin prevented him from doing so.

"Promise me," he begged. "I need you to promise me you'll stay safe."

"We've been over this before. I'm in the lab, there are cops everywhere. Nothing's going to happen to me. What's this all about?"

"You have no idea how close you came... how close you came... you're not even safe here. People can still hurt you and no one would ever know who did it."

"G?" Nick's eyes were now clearly clouded with worry. "What's going on? Did something happen?"

"Yes," he spoke quietly, feeling guilty. "But no cops could have saved you. The man's long gone now. You won't find him. Only I can find him, only I know where he is. He almost got you killed, Nicky and I can't live with that."

"How do you know this?"

"Promise me you'll find Warrick and don't leave his side for the rest of the night. Promise me!"

"Ok, I promise," Nick caved in.

"You'll know everything soon enough. Before the night is over. Everything I'm doing, Nicky, everything I've ever done, and everything I will do in the future has always been and will always be for you. I'm doing this for you, and there isn't a single person in the whole world who could stop me."

Needing one last kiss, he grabbed Nick's hand and pulled it away from his chin as he leaned in and gave him the best, deepest kiss he could muster, letting their lips linger together as long as he could before he forced himself to pull away.

He looked deep into Nick's eyes, one last time, caressing the side of Nick's face with the palm of his hand. "I love you," he said, his voice set with intense emotion, truth, and determination. Without waiting for a response, he stood up, and left Nick staring after him.

As he passed Judy's desk, Greg found a huddled mass of CSIs looking intently at something.

"Yo, Greg! Check this out, someone gave us a ton of money for the Mass Spec.!" Warrick called out to him.

Greg put on a fake smile as he heard Grissom ask him to take the cash down to QD before they used it.

"That's great, Warrick."

He left quickly, feeling tears starting to well up in his eyes.

* * *

A/N: Just a warning, in case you couldn't tell from this chapter there's a heavy Kleenex warning for the following two chapters. Kidnapping Nick won't spare him any pain or grief and kidnapping Greg would ensure Nick's death. If you leave Greg be, there's still a chance he can save Nick's life, and we all want that, right? So, no kidnapping allowed. Sorry guys.

If you need it, however, there is a short one shot entitled "Trying on Leather Pants" written for OTL because of who Geoff turned out to be. So, if you want some sexy leathery goodness that is happy Greg with Nick to offset this chapter, go have a read.


	16. Chapter 16

CSI: Ghost: Chapter 16

A/N: Just to clear up some slight confusion, the one shot I posted entitled "Trying on Leather Pants" was not an extra chapter to this story. It is entirely separate. I wrote it simply because Only True Love said she would have to request a story in which Greg wore leather pants, even if he was just trying them on, if Geoff turned out to be Greg in "Ghost". And, since Geoff was Greg, and I was about to reveal that, I decided to grant her wish of something hot, sexy, and happy with the boys. Make sense? I hope so. I'm glad you all enjoyed reading it as much, it seems, as I did writing it! Anyway, back to "Ghost" here's the update, hope you like! And ya'll know the drill about reviews: I LOVE them just as much as I love cowboys and their overly geeky, beautiful husbands! lol, enjoy!

* * *

Greg drove the Viper right up to the gates of Tony Biggs's mansion, hating his boss so much he wasn't even going to hide it. He was PISSED. His revolver was already tucked into his pants along with his knife and his AK-47s were laid out on the passenger seat, their extra magazines filling his pockets. No hiding this time. No one would catch him.

Pulling up along side the guard shack at the gate to show the man his ID, he showed him the barrel of an AK-47 instead, and blew his brains out. Stepping out of the car with both large guns in hand he dealt with each guard as they left the shack and then the others along the perimeter as they came running at the sounds of the gun blasts. He spared no one and didn't flinch when their blood and brain matter splattered onto his clothes and skin.

His wedding ring was safely tucked under his shirt, attached to the silver chain around his neck, where it would remain clean, perfect, pure, a symbol of his love for Nick for the rest of eternity.

He may have chosen Greg Sanders-Stokes as his identity, the man who couldn't face killing someone in cold blood, but when it came to Nick's life, everything changed. He would do anything for his husband. If Geoff didn't kill him he knew Tony would still make sure it got done. The thought that he was protecting Nick was what made him stronger. All he could think about now was the need for revenge. No one would have a hand in Nick's death except old age. And Greg would make sure of that.

He entered the mansion through the front door, using the AK-47s to kill anyone in his path. Running up the main staircase he found Tony at his desk, heavily armed with ten guards in front of him. Without a second thought and without giving them time to draw their weapons, he shot all ten guards down, leaving Tony staring at him in awe. The carpet was already turning a deep shade of red and the walls were dripping with it.

"Be glad, your money bought you a really good assassin."

Pulling out his knife, he approached the man with a menace he'd never felt before. When his mom was killed he'd been five and powerless to do anything. When he'd killed criminals before, it had always been in the name of his boss and he'd had no emotional attachment to his assignments. Now, the tides had turned and things were different.

He narrowed his eyes and scrutinized his now ex-boss. The man had lost his expression of awe, and now his eyes were wide in fright. Greg grinned, his wide bright grin, happy about what he was going to do, though it scared him a little that he should be. He thrust that fear to the back of his mind, however, and got down to business.

The boss wasn't carrying a weapon and he sat frozen, unable to pick up any of those that had landed on his desk when the guards had fallen. Greg knocked them all away, letting them clatter to the carpeted floor.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" his voice still sounded normal, as if he were telling Nick he'd forgotten to buy his favorite coffee at the grocery store.

The Devil shook his head.

"You have no idea about my past, do you?"

Again, the crime boss shook his head.

"Then let me tell you. And while I do, let me make a notch for everything that's ever been done to me against my will, for each and every pain I have suffered. Ok?"

Tony nodded, if a little slowly.

"You know, you've really got nothing to be scared about. Everyone dies at some point in their life. This is just your point."

A whimper escaped the man's lips.

"Sir!" A voice came from the doorway.

Greg spun around and fired the AK-47 in his left hand. The guard's body jittered for a moment before falling to the floor and soaking another section of the carpet in deep red.

He turned back to Tony. "My dad was tortured to death. That was the first thing done to me against my will. Hold your arm out, Tony. Roll up your sleeve. I'm not ruining a perfectly good wooden desk."

Whimpering, the crime boss complied, and Greg couldn't help but sigh inwardly. All crime bosses were the same, it seemed, once you got to them through their guards with a weapon in their face, they became weak kittens, unable to protect themselves. Greg held his wrist to the desk in a fierce grip. He made a light slice across his arm, making sure not to hit any major arteries. He wanted him to stay alive for awhile. His list was detailed.

Tony closed his eyes at the sight of his own blood and jerked his hand away instinctively but Greg refused to let go.

"Number two, my mother was forced to watch when they tortured my father."

He made another slice an inch above the first.

"Number three, my mom was killed when I was five."

Tony's eyes stayed shut as tight as was humanly possible. His arm began to resemble a candy cane.

"Number four, I was forced to watch as she bled to death as part of my training to become an assassin."

Greg said each line slowly so that Tony had some time to understand exactly what he was telling him.

"Number five, I was forced into training for this job, which I never wanted."

He sliced him slowly so that he could feel the pain burning into his arm.

"Number six, I was given a new name I didn't want."

Tony gulped and let another whimper escape his lips.

"Number seven, I was sold to you like property."

He began to tremble underneath the pressure of the knife and the pressure of Greg's hand holding his wrist down on the desk.

"Number eight, you always treated me like a dog someone else had taught to roll over for you."

His blood began to pool around his arm.

"Number nine, I've never been able to completely have the normal life I've always wanted."

Blood began soaking Tony's rolled up sleeve.

"Number ten, my first boss escaped the torture I would have given him by dying of cancer. He got away scott-free. But you won't. Why? Most importantly because of number eleven. I managed to find some peace in the world and a husband who loved me. And you had to go and ruin that by putting him on your hit list just because he was doing his job, the same as I was doing mine. No one kills Nicky. No one else touches him while I'm still alive, or even dreams of touching him, and lives."

In the silence that ensued, the steady dripping of blood could be heard falling onto the already soaked carpeting.

"I swear I won't! I'll leave you alone!" Tony blurted, finally opening his eyes in a flash.

"No. See, I know you won't. I'll have to turn you in if I let you live and I know you won't let that happen. I also know it was you who sent those letters to my house and my apartment. I know it was you who had that song played on the radio and mailed to me. I know it was you who threatened my husband's life on the phone that night. I think this would be considered a slip-up, not killing your precious mark. I can't afford to lose him, so, instead, I'm going to lose you, my boss. Besides, I'm feeling the need for revenge. All in all, you helped to ruin my life, so I'm going to ruin yours. But not before you help some others first. You're going to write a suicide note. I'm sure you heard all about the one I made Slick write from the news."

Tony nodded.

"You'll do the same thing. Got some paper and a pen handy? Good. Copy down exactly what I say." And Greg began the letter, "'I, Tony Biggs, deserve to die after everything I've done, especially for ruining the life of Greg Sanders-Stokes.'" Greg paused to make sure his boss had hyphenated his last name properly. "'Because I have ruined his life, I have decided to send my money to the charities of his choice: GLSEN, Pine Hill, and the LVPD Crime Lab to be used only for anything with Gilbert Grissom or Nick Sanders-Stokes's approval. The rest is to go to the charities of Nick's choice because by ruining his husband's life, I have hurt him in one of the worst ways possible. I do not deserve to live, nor do I deserve a proper burial'," here, Greg paused again, though for a different reason.

Hearing nothing, he turned, aimed, and fired an AK-47 at a guard who'd just moved into the doorway. The guard fell, making no sound at all.

Greg continued as if nothing had happened, "'When you have burned my body and sent me to hell, throw out my ashes with the daily trash. That is all I'm worth now. I wish I could say that I'm sorry for everything I've done, but Greg knows I'm not, so this is all I can do in my feeble attempt to repay him as well as his husband.' Now sign it. Bring out your check book. Divide ALL of your money between these three organizations and to Nick. That's four in all. You can divide by four, can't you?"

Tony nodded, a bleak expression on his face.

Greg laughed, though it hardly qualified as a happy one. "Good. Oh, and try your best not to get blood all over everything. You're bleeding profusely from that arm."

He waited while Tony filled out the envelopes and applied the stamps as directed. "Now, did I say your torture was over? I'm making this personal. I want to watch you bleed out because I don't love you like I loved my mother and I certainly don't love you like I love Nick. I'm personally sending you to hell for everything you've done. By the way, I hear The Devil's pretty pissed at your terrible impersonation act. Oh, and please say 'hi' to Slick for me when you get there. And for your information, this is going to be slow. You will be in pain for a very long time because you and my previous boss put me in pain for most of my life." Greg heaved a heavy sigh. "You're already looking a little pale. Please, I hope you're not so afraid of blood that you're going to yak all over everything."

* * *

Three hours later Greg was dialing a familiar number at a phone booth in the city.

"Brown," Warrick answered on the second ring.

"Tony Biggs is dead at home," Greg said without emotion. "Geoff Baker quit his assassin job and left all of his weapons, wiped clean, with Tony's body. Take Nick with you to the scene."

"Greg?" Warrick asked, apparently recognizing his voice.

"Give me that!" he heard Nick shout somewhere near his friend.

Greg hung up.

* * *

"This was personal," Warrick commented upon seeing Tony's body for the first time. Nick had to look away from the horrible sight of the body, cut, though no longer bleeding.

Warrick was looking at the papers on Tony's desk when Nick's eyes fell on something silver, pure and clean among the carnage. He picked it up with a gloved hand and realized instantly what it was, all his fears suddenly coming into place. His eyes glazed over.

"Yo, dude, looks like Geoff Baker saved your life. I just found The Devil's hit list. Everyone's crossed off but you."

Nick looked up with wide eyes, feeling himself plummet into an abyss he hadn't known was there. His heart was shattering into a million pieces as he realized a god awful truth. He looked back down at the wedding ring in his palm, hanging off a silver chain, the same silver chain they'd snapped a picture of Geoff Baker wearing. The same one he'd seen on the assassin in person the day he'd chased him. The assassin who was supposed to kill him, hadn't.

"_You have no idea how close you came... how close you came... you're not even safe here. People can still hurt you and no one would ever know who did it... No cops could have saved you. The man's long gone now. You won't find him. Only I can find him, only I know where he is. He almost got you killed, Nicky and I can't live with that... Promise me you'll find Warrick and don't leave his side for the rest of the night. Promise me!... You'll know everything soon enough. Before the night is over. Everything I'm doing, Nicky, everything I've ever done, and everything I will do in the future has always been and will always be for you. I'm doing this for you, and there isn't a single person in the whole world who could stop me."_

Greg's last words to him in the locker room of the lab came back to him like puzzle pieces being put into place. He felt Greg's lips on his once again, kissing him with a fervor he hadn't expected, especially in the locker room at work.

"_I love you," _Greg had spoken those last three words with such determination and love. Nick now knew he'd really been saying goodbye.

"Hey, I think I just found a suicide note... Nick?" Warrick looked up. "Oh God," he whispered, seeing the necklace. "He kidnapped Greg and he's playing with you before he makes the hit."

Nick pulled out his cell phone and hit the first speed dial he had, calling their house phone, knowing Greg was supposed to be home resting. At least, that's where he'd left him before he'd shown up at work. When he got no answer he tried Greg's work cell and finally he called his husband's personal number.

"Dammit Greg! Don't do this to me!" he cried out in anguish when his voice mail kicked in. "G, I love you, please don't leave! I don't care about whatever it is that you've done. I still love you and I don't want you to go."

Tears were beginning to prick at his eyes.

"Nick?" Warrick sounded concerned but Nick hardly cared because everything that had been going on with Greg since the case began was all making sense. He tore out of the crime boss's mansion clutching the ring that bore his name, ignoring everything and everyone around him. Greg didn't wear his wedding ring on a chain. He didn't wear it on a chain. His own comment to Greg and Archie not that long ago came back to haunt him:

"_Guys don't usually wear jewelry like that unless it means something... And when it does mean something, they usually wear it everyday." _

He'd been thinking about his own wedding ring and the man he was married to at the time, not even realizing that the jewelry he'd been looking at was the same thing. Even when Greg wasn't being Greg... he still wore his wedding ring, even if it wasn't visible to anyone else.

That alone gave him hope.

* * *

A/N: So, what will happen in the next, and final, chapter of "Ghost"? Nick has hope, but will it be enough? And now that Greg's boss is dead, what are the assassin-turned-CSI's plans for the future? Can he continue his life with Nick or was their last kiss really one of goodbye? BTW, what did he write in his letter to Nick and just how will Nick react if given the chance to read it?

The case of the informant: (Now that I can explain this without ruining the story, I will.) Originally, because Greg and Geoff are the same, there wasn't going to be an informant. Geoff didn't know who was giving him his information, he only knew it was someone within the lab. Then, GregLover212's comment sparked the idea that he should know it was Greg. Greg being the informant gave Geoff the convenient explanation of "visiting" Greg. And, that's how Greg became the informant.

If you want to get an email announcement the instant I post new chapters or start new stories, especially since I'll be taking a month long break once this story is complete, then please visit my brand new wiki: www(dot)queenoftheuniverse(dot)wetpaint(dot)com. All you have to do is become a member to receive updates. Please excuse the construction dust for the time being as there are only two stories posted: "Ghost" and "Braden Sanders-Stokes", because they are WIPs. For more information, updates and news are posted on the main page.


	17. Chapter 17

CSI: Ghost: Chapter 17

A/N: Well, this is it folks, the final chapter of Ghost is here! I must apologize for any errors that got left behind in this chapter due to me being sick most of the week. But the week is almost over and I didn't want you to have to wait any longer, and I think most of it, if not all of it, is in good shape. So, sit back, enjoy, and don't forget to review!

* * *

Greg drove back to the apartment he'd had as Geoff Baker and locked the Dodge Viper in it's parking space. He then walked the three blocks to his silver Jetta and drove out to Lake Mead. Finding a good place where no one would see him he opened the driver's side door and left it open.

He pulled the car keys from the ignition and dropped them onto the floor before snapping on a pair of latex gloves from his field kit. Being extremely careful with the evidence he'd collected from Tony's mansion, he brought out an evidence bag filled with hair, pulled out by the roots, from the last guard he'd killed on his way out. He placed the hair on the front seat as well as a strand on the floor, near the key. He moved to the passenger side and placed another on the head rest. Next, he brought out the knife he'd used to kill Tony and Slick. The guard he'd found after everyone else was dead had proved useful for sure. Not only did he give up his hair willingly, he'd also consented to having his blood drawn, and then he'd let Greg thrust the handle of the knife into his hand for the few moments before he'd died. Greg looked at the knife and changed his mind for a moment, setting it, in it's evidence bag, on the roof of the Jetta.

He retrieved another bag carefully sealed shut. Inside, was a lot less than a pint of blood, but just enough to do what he needed to do. If he'd had the proper tools to draw blood he wouldn't have had to worry about losing any of it, or collecting it in the first place, but he didn't. He had to work with what he had. But it didn't matter anyway. He knew what he was doing. He tipped the bag up and let drops of the guard's blood fall in just the right blood spatter for a physical fight between two people.

Yanking his own hair out by the roots he dropped it on the ground. Greg finally took down the knife and brought it out of it's bag, careful not to smudge any fingerprints on the handle. He looked down at the weapon and gulped, feeling the tears welling up in his eyes. This was it. The final moment before Greg Sanders died for the second time in his life.

"I love you, Nick," he whispered to himself before slicing open his left arm.

Blood flowed, falling to the ground along with the knife, clean of his own prints and now full of the guard's. Greg moved in the dirt, scuffing up the dirt to show a fight had occurred, letting his blood fall where it would. He took his right hand, managing to pull off the glove and covered it in his own blood before smearing it all over the driver's side window, careful to get at least a few solid prints on the glass. He gripped the steering wheel as if someone was pulling him out of the car and he didn't want to go. Blood soaked the seat and dripped onto the floor. It was enough to look fatal, and every moment he regretted having to do this to his friends and family. But he knew there was no other choice.

Grabbing the first aid kit from the front passenger seat he headed for the lake and began to scrub the blood off. Once the slice in his arm was clean he bandaged it up and put all of the garbage in a plastic bag. He made himself look presentable before heading back out to the road where he waited for the cab he'd called to meet him after he'd talked to Warrick.

* * *

Nick rushed into the house, panicking like he'd never panicked before, his breathing coming in short, hurried gasps. His eyes were wide, as he searched the house frantically for his husband before he found the two cell phones on the kitchen table holding up the note. They were both blinking, one saying Greg had missed a call and the other saying he had a voice mail waiting for him as well as a missed call. His shoulders dropped and he felt his whole body sagging with heavy emotions. Greg hadn't gotten his phone calls or his message. In front of the phones sat Greg's house key, and Nick knew everything had been set there on purpose. He hadn't forgotten to take anything with him. Fear rose within his now trembling frame. Fear for whatever it was that had pulled Greg away from him, because he knew, without a doubt, that his husband was gone and wouldn't be coming back.

He stood there, staring at the scene in front of him for the longest time before he slowly reached out and took the piece of paper held between the phones. Involuntarily, he moved to the couch in the livingroom and slumped down in it. He flipped the paper open and his eyes read the opening line:

_My Dearest Nicky,..._

His heart caught in his throat and he felt tears pricking at his eyes. Not having let go of his husband's wedding band since he'd first found it, he squeezed it hard, his knuckles turning white, as if it could bring Greg back to him, and thus, mend his already shattered heart.

* * *

In the Viper once more, Greg felt himself drawn to the house he'd shared with Nick one last time. He told himself he would just drive by. He wasn't going to stop. He was just going to drive by. But what he saw when he looked toward the once happy home, as he slowed down, broke his heart yet again. Through the livingroom window he could see Nick sitting on the couch, curled up into a ball, his knees brought up to his chest. He was rocking back and forth, and his body appeared to be shaking the way the piece of paper he was holding trembled in his hand.

"I'm sorry, Nicky. I just wanted a normal life. I didn't want to hurt you in the process. I didn't mean to," Greg whispered to no one, as a single tear fell from his eye and ran down his cheek.

Not stopping to think, he put his foot down on the gas peddle and raced down the street. Greg Sanders was finally free. He had no contracts with anyone. Tony Biggs hadn't sold him to someone else before he was brutally murdered. But Greg Sanders was also dead. For the second time in his life. He'd left behind everything that would remind himself of his last two lives. Now, the only thing he had left to do was sell the Viper, find a new car, something nondescript, and head out of town.

The one thing he wanted in his entire life, he knew he couldn't have anymore. He was a murderer, an assassin, and the last thing he wanted was Nick having to see him sent to prison for his work. He knew it would kill Nick to see his husband sent to court and found guilty for crimes he'd never known Greg was committing. He didn't want Nick to have to go to prison just to see him. He didn't want Nick to be ashamed of him. And he knew it would ruin his husband's career. It was better this way. Better, driving east toward a new life, no matter how much it hurt him.

Pushing the peddle further, he sped out of the city and out of Nick's life.

* * *

Ray Washburne sped down the road, anxious to get out of town. He was glad he'd gotten this red Dodge Viper. It made it easier to speed away from his past, from the things he didn't want to remember. But he'd have to junk the car soon. The guy who'd sold the sweet ride cheap looked and acted like he could have had both the law and criminals on his tail, which was sad, considering the car could have helped him forget. No, that was wrong. He didn't want to forget his sweet, kind, caring, and loving husband. He'd been the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Just thinking about the car accident and the teenager stupid enough to drive drunk made his eyes well up with tears and he remembered the last time they'd made love together. He'd cried then too. He'd loved his husband so much. He still did. He always would. And he knew his husband would always love him also. Now, he was moving east, trying to get rid of the grief he felt. He'd get a job, perhaps start up a junk shop. Something to keep him busy. He had so much money, inherited from his family, he hardly had to worry about a thing. And he'd have what he always wanted: a simple life and a husband who would always love him, no matter what. Who could ask for more?

* * *

_My Dearest Nicky,_

_Saying goodbye is painful. I know you don't want this. Please know I don't want it either. But it's for the best. By now you know the truth. I did my best to keep everything apart, but things got mixed up when Tony Biggs added you to his hit list because you've been solving all of his crimes. Even though you couldn't prove specifically that it was him, just know that it was. And know that you're safe now. _

_I paid off all the loans for the house, so you can keep it when I'm gone. I know you wouldn't accept it if I handed you the money in person. I deposited enough into our joint account that you should be more than fine if an emergency comes up. Please don't ask where it came from. I just need to know that you'll be ok, at least financially, without me. _

_I know you questioned many things about me towards the end and you probably still are now, as you read this. But know that you always knew the real me. I showed you the person I have always longed to be before I met you, and I am forever thankful that I got the chance to live out my dreams with you, even if it was for a short time. _

_You probably hate me for deceiving you, but you've got to know I didn't have a choice in my first career. I only chose to become a CSI so that I could actually do some good in the world, so I could actually have a somewhat normal life, holding a steady job, and marrying the one man I truly love. I tried so hard to block out the rest of my life when we were together because I didn't want it to ruin what we had. That's why I was so upset when Mom called me at work._

_I know my apologizes will never be enough to ease your pain, but I am truly sorry for everything I've put you though. As horrible as it may sound for me to say this, I can only hope you have a good long life with the rest of your friends and family and that I haven't done too much of the damage I fear I have. _

_I wish I didn't have to say this but you also need to know that I don't exist anymore. Greg Sanders died in a tragic accident out at Lake Mead. I wish I could give you the little box of ashes you deserve as my husband, but I can't. Things might have changed, but I'm still the same person you knew and loved, and that will never change. No matter what happened in the past with us, or whatever happens in the future, I have always loved you with everything I am and I always will. I wish I didn't have to move on without you. The thought alone is breaking my heart. But perhaps we'll meet again some day when we're both headed for the pearly gates. I would like that very, very much. Just promise me you'll keep my ring safe and you won't forget how much I love you._

_I will always be with you in spirit, no matter where I am in the world. I will be laughing with you while your nieces and nephews throw water balloons at each other, and while you sleep, I'll be right there beside you, holding you close for comfort. When you walk down the street, my hand will be holding yours and I won't ever let go. _

_I love you, _

_Greg_

The End

* * *

A/N:

There were two inspirations for Ray Washburne's name in this chapter: The first was Ray Vecchio from Due South. Well, both Rays actually, I did like them both. And the second was Wash from Firefly, using his full last name, he was yet another really great character.

Really, there was ten million different ways this story could have ended. Even with the ending it currently has, it could go on further, but when I stopped to think about each possibility, this seemed like the best, for both boys. If I continue this further, it could only lead to more heartache. I hope you enjoyed it and I hope you come back for more of my work in the future. Looking forward to reviews...

If you would like an automatic update the moment I start posting new work after my month long break in March, please join my wiki! Www(dot)queenoftheuniverse(dot)wetpaint(dot)com.


End file.
